


petals and blood

by Pomfry



Category: Batman (Comics), Super Sons (Comics), Superman (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Because Damian is repressed, But they're getting there I promise, Hanahaki Disease, Luthor isn't that bad of a human being in this and I am not going to apologise for it, M/M, Panic Attacks, Temporarily Unrequited Love, These fucking idiots I swear to God, They need to get their shit together, this is going to hurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2018-12-02 03:42:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 21,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11501061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pomfry/pseuds/Pomfry
Summary: Jon can feel roots spreading and the way the flowers are blooming, and he can't-He can't help but look at the ceiling and think,looks like Damian will kill me after all.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> SO.
> 
> Here's Reason Number 2™
> 
> It's going to hurt severely.
> 
> I'm not sorry.
> 
> This is hopefully going to be about four chapters, but you never know.

There's a tickling in the back of Jon's throat.

He coughs and coughs but it never goes away, and it's really starting to irritate him.

So when he wakes up in the middle of the night with no air in his lungs, he takes a breath that rattles in his throat, and he still can't _breathe-_

He stumbles out of bed and falls to his knees, still coughing and trying to get whatever it is out, and-

Blood runs down his lips and petals drift to the ground, red stained and delicate, and Jon grabs one, holds it up to his eyes with a shaking hand, and tears fill them as he drops it.

It's a light purple, and Jon remembers that mission only a month ago where they'd crashed into a greenhouse, and him and Damian had gotten flower all over themselves, and Damian had some kind of flower scattered in his hair.

Jon had laughed and laughed, and not even Damian threatening him with the kryptonite held in his belt had managed to stop him.

Jon had looked at him, at his snarl and red cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and thought _oh._

_Oh, I love him._

Jon coughs again and more petals fall out, and he can finally breathe.

There's a tightness in his chest, and Jon can't help but recall the articles he's read about Hanahaki Disease and it's symptoms, the way that a flower grows in a person's chest and won't stop until whoever has it dies.

Jon can feel roots spreading and the way the flowers are blooming, and he can't-

He can't help but look at the ceiling and think, _looks like Damian will kill me after all._

 

\--

 

It's not so bad, Jon supposes as he coughs into his hand.

Damian barely glances up from the file he's reading. “Are you sick?”

Jon thinks on it; would Hanahaki really count as being sick?

“No.” He decides. “I'm not sick, something was just caught in my throat."

(He hides the petals in his pocket, and tries not to think of the red on his fingers.)

 

\--

 

He's three months into the disease when he spits out petals in front of Luthor, blood on his suddenly pale lips and clutching his chest as the flowers bloom a bit more.

Luthor takes one look at the boy on all fours in front of him, and kneels.

He rubs his nemesis’ child's back and talks him through the pain, and when Jon finally stops, he slumps into Luthor’s side, breathing shaky and eyes still wet.

“Thanks.” Jon says quietly, and Luthor hums, the sound rumbling in his chest.

“I hope that you know your options.” Luthor tells him, and Jon thinks of the only two he has, and shakes his head.

“The surgery has never been one.” Jon whispers, voice rough, because if he gets the surgery all feelings towards Damian would be gone.

He won't get the flutter in his stomach when Damian gives that dangerous smirk, the way his heart races when Damian laughs, the way his face heats up when Damian falls asleep against his shoulder, the way he aches when Damian finally let's down his guard if he gets that operation.

Complete apathy towards one of the most important people in his life.

No, it has never been an option.

Luthor runs his hand through Jon's hair, and it's oddly comforting.

“Come to me if you need help concealing it. I have experience.” Luthor orders him before he leaves, and Jon nods his head.

He wants to know who Luthor's love once was, but it's not his secret to know.

Jon heads home and petals fall from his lips as he flies.

 

\--

 

He takes Luthor up on his offer a month later, when the petal numbers are too great for him to simply stuff them inside any pocket he has on hand, when he's almost caught.

His dad's oldest enemy is waiting on the balcony and Jon bites a purple petal between his teeth.

“I need advice.” Jon says as soon as he lands, and Luthor doesn't bother with theatrics as he heads inside.

Jon follows, roots digging their way further into his muscles and petals clogging his throat.

Luthor tosses a small object at him, and Jon catches it automatically, looking down at it curiously.

“What’s this?” He asks, fascinated by the way the silver coating catches the light.

Luthor sits down heavily in a chair, and says, “It's made to conceal the way the body reacts to Hanahaki Disease, such as paleness and blood.” He eyes the way Jon's standing, fatigue weighing him down until he's forced to remain on the ground. “Which I suspect you need.”

Jon shrugs wordlessly and sets the device on the desk. “What about the petals?” He asks, and Luthor's already thin smile tightens.

“I'm afraid there's no way to conceal the petals. They will come and go, but less in intensity if you avoid thinking of your object of affections or being around them.”

Jon shakes his head, and Luthor sighs, rubbing his forehead. “It's either that or cough with your lips shut, swallow the blood, and keep the petals in your mouth until you can get rid of them.”

Jon tastes copper and throws three petals into the trash can across the room.

“Yeah.” Jon says shortly, and grabs the small device again. “So how do you work this?”

(Jon leaves looking like he did only six months ago, and the flowers inside him have a stranglehold on his lungs and throat, and he stops to cough and cough until four float down.)

 

\--

 

His condition is worsening by the day, and it grows every time Damian gives him a grin, and yet he finally has a name for his flower.

H.F. Young Clematis.

Jon laughs, wavering and sad, as he punches a robot in the head, and a petal slips past his lips.

 _It figures that it's such a fancy name,_ he thinks with a roll of his eyes, and Damian roars a battle cry next to him, birdarangs flashing in the afternoon sun, and Jon coughs.

Lavender lands on the cement.

The flower blooms a bit more, and Jon almost collapses, petals filling his throat and he can't-

Jon claws at his chest, scarlet coming in a beam to destroy a robot trying to sneak up on Damian from behind, and he coughs.

Two petals come up, and he grits his teeth, and none reach the outside.

He _refuses_ to let Damian-his _best friend,_ the one he loves with all of his heart, the one who's killing him without even meaning to-die because of a ridiculous thing such as Hanahaki Disease.

No.

Jon takes a deep breath, chokes on the flower invading his lungs, and dives down, the wind stealing his breath away, and adrenaline rushes into his veins.

He takes out two in one punch, another in a ray of red, and lands besides Damian, head spinning and exhaustion weighing down his limbs.

He hasn't slept well in months, and it's showing.

“Focus!” Damian hisses, and Jon blinks slowly at him, dazzled at the way his brows pull together in frustration, the way the the light plays off of his sword, the way that Damian looks at him, concerned and worried and fierce.

He opens his mouth and six petals drift onto Damian palm.

Jon looks up at Damian's face, and-and he's _terrified,_ they both are.

 _Damian knows, Damian knows,_ **_Damian knows._**

The shattered concrete below him drops, an explosion booms in his ear, and Jon coughs.

Two more slip in between the cracks, and Jon whirls in front of Damian a moment before a car hits his back.

Jon stumbles, blood on his lips and the roots vengefully curl themselves deeper into his lungs as Damian stares up at him, a petal on his cheek.

“...Hey.” Jon manages, and Damian blinks.

“You…” Damian starts, and Jon coughs, throat aching and petals building, and spots dancing across his vision.

A shout of _Superboy_ echoes and Dad’s suddenly there, his bright red cape reminding Jon of the way scarlet stained Luthor’s tissue all those months ago.

He really needs to visit him again, because Damian is gazing up at him as though he’s never seen him before, so-

So that means the device is malfunctioning.

Jon’s heart sinks.

“Jon-”

The world fades to black.

\--

 

“..Why hadn’t he _told us…”_

“...Clark...what do you _think_ this is..”

“Jon has…”

“Yes...and..few months…”

_“Who.”_

Jon laughs, and he thinks, _you, Damian. Who else?_

“Jon!”

Hands flutter over his shoulders and linger on his chest, and Jon takes a staggered breath and opens his eyes.

Damian's panicked face greets him.

“Hey.” He croaks, and Damian snarls incoherently, hands becoming tangled in his shirt as he lifts him up.

“Hey? _Hey?”_ His best friend repeats, and Jon winces, because Damian sounds incredulous and angry above all else.

“You've been dying for months and all you can say is _hey?”_ Damian slams him back down, leaning in close. “Why didn't you _tell me.”_

Jon's face is steadily turning red, because Damian is viscous, and it's kicking his heart into double time, regardless of the way the flowers are blooming.

“Well?”

Jon sits up, swallows down the petals clogging his throat and says, “Because it wouldn't have made a difference.”

And it wouldn't have, because this isn't something Damian can just fix like he does with everything else. This is just a painful reminder that Damian will never love him the way that Jon loves him.

Damian's face crumbles, and he takes a rattling breath, gently resting his head on Jon's chest, and, hesitantly, Jon rests his hand on Damian's back, and they simply stay there.

Dad and Bruce aren't watching, haven't been since Damian first surged towards him, so Jon gently pulls Damian closer, and presses his lips to his crown of his best friend's hair, and closes his eyes.

 _I'm sorry,_ he thinks, and he doesn't quite know who it's for.

_I'm sorry._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian stands and watches as his best friend leaves, and he punches the wall when he's gone, gritting his teeth as he flattens the fist out and leans, putting his weight on it.
> 
> _I didn't fall in love, Mother._
> 
> _And yet, it hurts just the same._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so here's a full chapter from Damian's perspective.
> 
> Prepare for angst.

_ “Promise me, my son. Promise me that you'll never fall in love. _

Damian hits the target without a sound.

_ “Why?" _

_ “Because you have the blood of the al Ghul and the Wayne's inside of you, you will feel emotions more deeply than others. You will be more susceptible to Hanahaki Disease.” _

Damian grits his teeth as Jon coughs in the medical part of the cave, and lunges forward, sword leading the way into the fake chest.

_ “Mama, did you ever fall in love?” _

_ “Indeed I did.” _

_ “What happened?” _

_ “I had the flower removed.” _

Damian stops, hanging into the hilt of his sword with strength given by misery, and he hunches over it, tears prickling his eyes.

_ “Promise me.” _

_ “I will never fall in love." _

_ “Thank you.” _

Damian laughs and sinks to the ground.

_ I didn't fall in love, Mother, and now I'm losing Jonathan. _

He wonders how it feels, to have flowers in your chest, growing and expanding. Wonders what it feels like to have roots dig into your lungs.

Jon coughs and three petals land in Clark's hand.

_ Why didn't I get it. _

“Damian?”

_ Why did  _ **_he_ ** _ have to get it? _

“Damian.”

_ I'm losing Jon because someone doesn't see how lucky they are. _

Jon kneels beside him, a sickly smile on his lips and petals in his palm. “Damian, it's going to be okay.” He says, and Damian scoffs.

“It's not.”

_ Why can't they see? _

Damian wants to grab them by the shoulders and _ shake,  _ because Jon _ has _ to be the best thing that's ever happened to them, and they-

“Damian. It's not his fault.” Jon says firmly, and Damian latches onto the bit of information granted.

“It's a male?” He asks, and Jon blanches, blue eyes wide.

_ He- _

Damian stands, and his hands may be shaking a bit, and he doesn't know if it's from anger or fear, or-or-

He doesn't _ know. _

He doesn't know, and-and it's  _ terrifying _ because this-this isn't something he can't solve with his brain and hands.

This is _ emotions,  _ and Damian simply isn't good with those, but he can find the person Jon is in love with, he can do that much, and that's all that's keeping him on his feet.

“Damian-” Jon chokes out, and scrambles to his feet, and Damian keeps on walking, regardless of the way that he wants to go back and help his best friend, because he can hear the blood land on the ground when he coughs, can hear the way that Jon's voice is strangled and his breathing is labored, and-

And it _ infuriates him. _

Why can't whoever Jon's in love with see that Jon is amazing, the way that he stops to help anyone he can, the way that his grin lights up whatever room he's in-

How can he see that, and not love him?

Damian doesn't know, and he's planning on finding out.

“Damian-” Jon grabs his wrist, and Damian spins on his heel, glaring at his best friend.

“It's not _ okay that I'm going to be losing you.” _ He hisses, and it's the solid truth, torn out of his heart with claws, and Jon falters, eyes going wide.

“Still, it's not their fault, I'm going to be _ fine  _ even if I don't get the surgery-” Jon starts again, like he's trying convince himself too, and Damian-

Damian  _ can't. _

_ “You'll be _ **_dead, Jon!”_ ** He screams, and he stops Jon short.

“If you don't get that surgery, you will  _ die.”  _ he whispers, and his hands form into fists as he continues. “I  _ know you,  _ and I know that you won't get that fucking operation, and unless-unless you get whoever you love to love you back in the same way, you'll  _ die.” _

He's looking at the ground, desperately holding back the tears, because he's supposed to be _stronger_ than this, to be above this mind-numbing panic, this hopelessness, and-

Jon tugs him into a hug, wraps thin arms around him, and he could crush him, could snap him in half with hardly a thought, because he's half Kryptonian, no matter the fact that he's been worn down by this disease, but Damian hasn't worried about that since he was thirteen and still attempting to get Jon to like him, so-

So he let's it, let's Jon press him close and subtly presses his face into his shirt, and Jon starts swaying from side to side, and he's trying not to break down, but his hands are clutching onto Jon's back like he might lose him, and he fits perfectly against Jon, just small enough for them to be like two pieces of a puzzle.

Jon's so _ tall,  _ and it's always irritated Damian, because he's older, and thus supposed to be taller, and Jon's always laughed at him, a full stomach laugh that makes him bend over when he finally snaps and shouts it, and that only makes him angrier, but right now Damian would do anything to hear it again, because Jon could die soon, and Damian doesn't know what he'll do if he does.

“I'm fine.” Jon says, and Damian scoffs, grip tightening until the fabric threatens to tear.

“You're not.” He retorts, and Jon huffs, sending black hair back and slightly frosted.

“Yeah, okay, you got me there. But it'll all turn out alright.”

_ It won't, _ Damian thinks, and he wonders again how much it hurts to have Hanahaki, wonders if it compares to the pain of knowing your loved one is dying and there's nothing you can do.

Wonders how it feels to suddenly cough up petals, and know that you're dying, and somehow being content with it.

Jon pulls back, a small smile on his face as he stares at him, and Damian's heart seizes in his chest at the sight, because Jon looks so frail and worn down by the world, and yet he's smiling and the glint in his eyes is the same as ever, and Damian fears the day he wakes up and Jon's not here.

For everyone else, he's had no warning, no wait. He's only had a spilt second of alarm, and then they're gone.

This…

He has  _ time,  _ now. Time to agonize, time to watch Jon waste away and still with that goddamn _ smile- _

“Damian.” Father gently pries him away, and Clark does the same to Jon, and he keeps eye contact with Jon the whole time. Jon coughs, and it shudders in his lungs, makes him shake when it shouldn't, and Damian strangles the urge to lunge after him, to make sure that his heartbeat is still going steadily, because Clark can hear it.

He can hear it and react better than Damian.

Damian stands and watches as his best friend leaves, and he punches the wall when he's gone, gritting his teeth as he flattens the fist out and leans, putting his weight on it.

_ I didn't fall in love, Mother. _

_ And yet, it hurts just the same. _

 

\--

 

Damian begins by making a list of any male in Jon's, including himself.

He then systematically eliminates those that are either too young, too old, or that Jon views as family.

Dick comes up from behind, resting his chin on the chair, and watches as Damian hesitates over a name.

“I heard about Jon.” He says quietly, and Damian takes a deep breath, keeping the name and moving onto another.

“And?” Damian asks tightly, slowly setting his hands down on the keyboard, giving the illusion of calmness.

He is anything but calm.

Dick hums, looking up at the screen, and Damian reminds himself that he can't lash out.

It's hard, especially considering the fact that he barely got any sleep last night and he's a mess inside.

“...I once knew a person with Hanahaki.” Dick says, and Damian's eyes snap up.

“And?”

“Well, he's a speedster, so his hyper-accelerated healing made it worse.” Dick sighs and drapes himself over the back of the chair. “And since he's an idiot, he couldn't really figure it out who he felt for, considering he feels so many things for so many people.”

Damian drums his fingers on the table in front of him, impatient to the second, mind racing with every word said. “How did you figure out who it was?”

Dick laughs, grinning at him as he ruffles his hair. Damian snarls at him, and he pulls his hand away.

_ “I _ didn't figure it out.” He tells Damian, that smile as bright as ever.  _ “He  _ did. Turns out, they were right in front of him all along.”

Damian grinds his teeth and glares up at his oldest brother. “How does that  _ help me?” _ He shouts, because he needs to find out who Jon loves and every minute he waits is another minute the flowers bloom, and Jon's closer to death.

Dick slips off the chair like water, and stands with his hands on his hips and a finger in front of Damian's face. “The lesson is-sometimes it's the obvious person. Just think about it, okay?” He pats Damian on the head, and leaves him to his list.

Damian stares up at the blinding white screen, and marks a civilian classmate off, and he ignores the way his own name is baring down at him.

Because there's no way.

Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did ya catch my hint of birdflash? *Nudge nudge, wink wink*


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He screams, high and desperate and terrified, and he can't move, because Lex’s heartbeat is starting to falter, and _that's never happened before-_
> 
> _“Lex!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaayyyyy. 
> 
> Guess who dies.

Jon lands on the balcony, coughing into his fist.

Two petals pop out, and he supposes that's better than yesterday, when five landed on the ground.

“Luthor?” He calls, voice rough and breathing the same.

No answer.

Jon frowns and marches in, concern festering in his mind, because every other time he's been here, Luthor's answered him.

This is the first time he hasn't.

“Luthor, where are you-”

Jon stops in his tracks, because-

Because Luthor's coughing into the sink, and the petals are already almost up the brim.

“Lu- _ Lex!” _

Lex glances over, and Jon turns on his x-ray vision, and-

And the flower is almost completely bloomed.

“No.” He whispers, and Lex almost falls to his knees as ten more petals land with it's siblings.

“Jon,” Lex says, chest heaving as more petals make themselves known.

Jon stumbles forward, horror rising as the person who's helped him for _ months _ now, the person who should be an enemy but is more like family, collapses with scarlet stained petals still slipping past his lips and he _ can't- _

He screams, high and desperate and terrified, and he can't move, because Lex’s heartbeat is starting to falter, and  _ that's never happened before- _

_ “Lex!” _

 

\--

 

Jon doesn't know what happens next, but he finds himself in a chair next to Lex's hospital bed, shoulders shaking as he stares at his hands.

He doesn't know how he got here; maybe he flew, maybe he refused to leave Lex's side-he doesn't know because everything's a blur.

It's a blur, and now Lex is on the bed, shadows pooling under his eyes and cheeks hollowed, and Jon  _ knows _ this is how he's looked since before Jon had come into the picture, but he's only seen it once or twice.

Lex looks so defeated, and it makes a knife twist in his heart, because Lex won't get the surgery.

“Why… Why don't you tell me about them?” Jon asks, and they both know he's trying to not address the fact that Lex will die soon.

Lex has never told him about his love before.

Lex gives a chuckle that turns into a cough, and Jon flinches, curling in on himself and fingernails biting into his elbows.

“Fine.”  Lex says, and Jon looks up so fast his head is nearly a blur.

“Really?” He gasps, and the man on the bed nods, thin arms moving to cross in front of his chest.

“Yes.”

Jon scoots closer, eyes sparkling as he places his chin in his palms. “What were they like?”

Lex laughs, and for the first time Jon can see a glint in his eyes that doesn't speak of his intelligence.

No, it's softer.

“They were… Kind. Almost overwhelmingly at times, I'll admit.” A fond smile crosses Lex’s face. “They felt emotions more deeply than others, so they hurt more and often times people took advantage of that.”

Jon frowns at that, shifting on the bed, because that’s just a horrible thing to do, and everyone knows it. “How so?” He asks, not really wanting the answer.

Lex scowls at the blanket covering him, coughing into his hand.

Five petals land on the fabric.

Lex leans back, and Jon takes a peek at the flower.

His heart cracks.

It's only two petals away from blooming.

Lex only has five minutes left, at most.

“They.. They-” he stops to cough again, and one petal falls open.

Jon's heart is pounding in his ears, a crescendo of sound, and he lunges forward, pulling Lex into a desperate hug, closing his eyes to try and stop the tears, and Lex coughs.

Jon swears that he feels the flower bloom as Lex starts to gasp for air, hands clutching at Jon's back, and Jon finally starts to cry, sobbing into Lex’s shoulder as blood lands on his shirt, and Jon  _ hears _ the way Lex’s heart stop as a fully grown flower, crimson dripping from the original blue, lands on the covers.

Lex stops breathing, and Jon still holds on, still has tears running down his cheeks and staining the hospital gown, and the world seems so much emptier when Lex’s heartbeat is gone.

Jon cries with the dead body of a supervillain in his arms, and two petals come up.

They fall gracefully to the bed, and Jon doesn't care.

He doesn't care, he _ can't care. _

_ Lex is  _ **_dead,_ ** he wants to scream, but if he says that it's true, and he can't-

He can't face that reality right now.

So he sits with Lex's corpse trapped in a hug, and he thinks that whoever Lex loved better love him now, because-

Because one of the smartest person on this planet,  _ Jon's friend, _ has just died because he loved them and they didn't love him back.

Jon only clutches Lex tighter, and hopes that he can convince his heart to start again if he does it hard enough.

 

\--

 

Doctors eventually come, running in as they see Superboy becoming hysterical, and to their credit they don't falter when they see the flower.

Jon swats one into the wall, pulls Lex closer with one arm and his eyes are red, blistering with familiar heat to anyone who's been in a battlefield with a Kryptonian, and they step back, hands coming up as a sign of peace.

Lex's head lolls onto Jon's chest, and the emptiness is enough to make Jon  _ ache. _

This is one of the heartbeats that should never have stopped, and yet it did, and Jon was the only one in the hospital room.

Jon was the only one to see Lex Luthor die, and it makes him _ furious,  _ because Lex should have had more than dumb  _ Superboy _ to see it, to comfort him in his last moments.

Jon's hands are trembling, he notices dazedly, and everyone's talking to him, trying to get him to let go of Lex-

And  _ nononono, _ that  _ can't  _ happen, _ Jon will not let that happen- _

His breathing is becoming harsh, short little puffs, and he floats off the bed, and Lex is cold, so so cold.

He shouldn't be cold.

“Superboy, please put Mr. Luthor down.” A nurse says, face soft, and Jon almost snarls at her when-

When Damian shoves past them, scarlet tunic drawing Jon's eye and making him hesitate.

“Ro…” Jon trails off, and Damian takes a single step towards him, expression set.

Lex's eyes stare at Jon's best friend blankly.

“Superboy,” Damian says, voice firm and commanding, and yet so fucking gentle that Jon relaxes, just a bit. “put Lex Luthor down.”

Jon's hand clenches Lex for a moment, torn between the want to never let Lex go and the desire to just let Damian handle the situation, because Jon is  _ tired. _

“Superboy.” Damian repeats, and Jon sets Lex down on the bed again, puts the covers on him, busies himself with making sure that he's comfortable to avoid the thought that it doesn't matter, now, and Damian grabs his wrist, and they gaze at each other, one devastated and the other wanting to help-

Damian leads him away, and with every footstep that echoes in Jon's mind, the hole only gets worse.

Lex is dead.

Jon will be too.

 

\--

 

He shows up as the funeral, still wearing that device, only he's not alone.

Damian comes with him, and they make the front page, Superboy weeping at Lex Luthor's funeral with Robin holding his hand and straight backed.

(Jon coughs up three more petals that day, and he knows that he's on a time limit, but with Damian never letting him go, and Lex in a grave, he can't think of that.

He thinks that Lex would approve.)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What am I going to do with you?” Damian says, and Jon breathes in response, a steady rhythm that Damian's come to love in the last few months.
> 
> In, out.
> 
> Simple and easy, and one of the ways Damian knows that Jon's alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey!
> 
> Sorry not sorry for the cliffhanger

The city's smoking after a battle, and Damian glances over at his best friend and carefully smothers the urge to grab his sword and separate a limbs from bodies because  _ why won’t they leave him alone? _

Jon looks worn down, like he’s fragile glass just a moment away from shattering even with that machine tucked behind his ear, and Damian’s still holding his hand, but those  _ goddamned- _

“Superboy!” One shouts, shoving his microphone is Jon’s face, and Jon flinches back, shadows under his eyes and from the way his shoulders shake, he’s holding petals between his teeth.

Damian tugs him behind him gently, making sure that the vultures are five feet away, and Jon’s clutching at his hand, always conscious of his strength, and Damian wishes that he’d just let go a bit; Damian can handle the pain.

A particularly persistent photographer gets too close, and Damian destroys his camera without even a glance.

They avoid them after that, so Damian turns his attention to Jon, softly feeling for injuries, and Jon coughs again and three petals land on Damian's gauntlet.

Jon leans down and rests his head on Damian's shoulder, blood on his lips and Damian brushes the purple off with a calmness he doesn't feel.

Red smears.

“Sorry,” Jon murmurs, a rough sound to his voice, and Damian smiles without humor and says, “It's not your fault.”

Because it's not, and it never will be. Because Jon is dying of a disease, and he knows exactly what it will look like when he finally does, and he's grieving Lex Luthor, and he's just-

Damian wants to give Jon a break, wants to give him a rest before the world breaks him into a billion pieces because they think just because he's Kryptonian he can handle anything, can always be smiling without care, and Damian wants to  _ shake them  _ because how can they think that?

Jon can't, Clark can't,  _ nobody can. _

Damian wraps his arms around Jon, feels him cough again, and knows that blood's now on his cape, and he doesn't care.

How can he, when Jon's dying?

Damian leans back and places his hands on his best friend's shoulders, and says, “We are going to have a sleepover.”

Jon breaks out into a tired smile, his lips lifting easily into that bright, happy grin, and says, “Never thought I'd hear you say those words again.”

“Sacrifices must be made at times.” Damian replies stoically, and Jon bursts into laughter, and it starts at his hair and ends at his toes and infects the air around him, and Damian basks in it as though it's the last time he'll hear it, and feels like the sun has come out after a long winter.

It's always been like that, Damian realizes, and bites back a small smile.

“A sleepover it is!” Jon declares, still laughing, and Damian chuckles at his enthusiasm, and wonders why his heart is clenching.

 

\--

 

“So!” Jon says, throwing himself on Damian's bed, and that device is off, and Jon looks thin and sickly, as though he should be in a hospital gown instead of a flannel over shirt, and Damian grits his teeth at the sight, because that is not how Jon should look.

But Jon's comfortable enough,  _ trusts _ him enough to turn it off and show off that he truly looks like around Damian, so he sets his jaw and says, “So, what?”

Jon turns himself over, and says, “What are we doing?”

The list catches his eye for a fraction of a second, and Jon notices it.

“What's that?’ He asks, and floats off the bed, and Damian's blindsided at the memory of Jon desperately holding a dead Lex Luthor in his arm and snarling at anyone who came close.

Damian blinks, and it's gone.

“... Damian?”

_ Not the time, _ he thinks, and shakes his head to get rid of the remaining bits of memories.

_ Fall apart when Jon isn't here,  _ he tells himself, and strides towards his desk.

“What?” He asks briskly, and pets Alfred as he hops up, black fur warm from the sun.

Jon doesn't look up from the tablet, artificial light making his eyes glow. “Damian, why is this a list?”

Damian takes the technology from Jon's hands and swipes another from the rows.

“Damian!” Jon's voice is a whip that cracks in the air, and Damian sighs. 

“It's everyone in your life who is a male, and I am almost halfway through it.”

“I.  _ Why?" _

Damian crosses his arms, tablet hanging from his fingers loosely and stares Jon in the eyes. “Because I need to find out who you love and terrify some sense into him.”

For a moment, Jon's torn between laughter and yelling, and he settles for a roll of his eyes and a stomp of his foot.

“I saw your name on there.” He says, and his face is open and curious.

Damian hesitates, hand frozen in the middle of Alfred's back and quietly says, “I meant every male.”

They both fall silent, and Jon reaches out to tap him on the head. “Let's play some video games.”

“Okay.”

 

\--

 

Jon starts nodding off around midnight, and ends up in Damian's lap, fast asleep as a movie plays.

Damian blinks, setting a hand on his best friend's hair, and smiles when Jon only sniffs and shift closer.

“What am I going to do with you?” Damian says, and Jon breathes in response, a steady rhythm that Damian's come to love in the last few months.

In, out.

Simple and easy, and one of the ways Damian knows that Jon's alive.

He bends over until his face is in Jon's hair to hide his coming tears.

Jon's dying.

Jon's dying, and soon he will die, soon he will be gone forever, and it's a fact that Damian's still struggling with, still refusing to face, because there's a sliver of a chance that Jon will get the surgery, will be loved back, and is a chance Damian clings to desperately, because then Jon  _ will not leave him. _

There's only a few constants in Damian's life, and Jon's one of them, and Damian doesn't know what he'll do when he's gone.

Jon coughs a bit, face screwing up in pain before relaxing. Damian shakily places a hand on Jon's chest, making sure that it's moving, up and down, up and down, up-

Jon coughs again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

He coughs until he wakes and sits up and blood stained petals fall to the floor and his eyes are wide and filled with tears, and he can't stop  _ coughing- _

_ “Jon!” _


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Dami-” He starts, and the purple feels like acid as it fills his throat.
> 
> Damian pales, scrambling to hit his back and call someone-dazedly, Jon thinks he hears his last name-but the petals just keep coming-
> 
> The precious air in his lungs rattles and leaves and suddenly Jon can't breathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *bangs pots and pans* HELLO CHILDREN IT'S 11:40 AT NIGHT AND I STILL HAVEN'T STARTED ON DISHES BUT HERE'S THIS.
> 
> Also, I made sugar cookies! :3

The room's spinning.

The room's spinning and Damian is screaming his name, and petals are coming up as fast as they leave, and Jon's  _ terrified. _

“Dami-” He starts, and the purple feels like acid as it fills his throat.

Damian pales, scrambling to hit his back and call someone-dazedly, Jon thinks he hears his last name-but the petals just keep _ coming- _

The precious air in his lungs rattles and leaves and suddenly Jon can't breathe.

Spots invade his vision and Damian looks at him, eyes wide and scared, and with coughs still shaking his shoulders, Jon's world fades to black.

 

\--

 

_ Damian's room ripples into focus, and Jon shudders, cold crawling up his spine, but Damian smiles at him, takes his hand, and Jon forgets all about it. _

_ “Damian what were we doing?” Jon asks, and for once he doesn't have petals on his tongue as he talks to his best friend, and that just makes Jon grin all the wider as he squeezes Damian's hand. _

_ Damian laughs, and drags him out the door, and instead of the hallway of the Manor they're in Hamilton, the fair bright around them, and the light dances across on Damian's skin, and Jon can't quite seem to tear his eyes away. _

_ Damian looks at him, a smirk playing on his lips, and asks, voice like a siren, “Aren't you going to show me around?” _

_ Jon flushes a brilliant red, and they're still holding holds, but Damian doesn't seem bothered by it, so Jon let's it be. _

_ Damian nudges him, and Jon snaps to attention, smile already splitting across his face, and with no petals or blood in his throat, he tugs Damian to the Ravager. _

_ They stand in the stalls with chains in front and Damian says, “So what does this do?” _

_ And Jon laughs, hands tightening on the handles. “You'll see!” He shouts as the ride starts to turn. _

_ They whirl around and around, and through it all Jon cackles, and Damian starts to chuckle, and then laugh, and Jon's stomach is tumbling and his heart is in his throat, and it doesn't matter if his blood rushes every time he steps onto the battlefield, he loves this old ride just the same. _

_ He glances at Damian, and his best friend is grinning, hair whipping to the side, and Jon leans his head back until he sees the stars and let's his laughter fill the air. _

_ They stumble from the exit, breath torn away and heads spinning, and people mill around them, an ever moving mass, but Jon only has eyes for Damian, for the way that Damian takes his hand again and says, “I've never had fair food.” _

**_I can't let that pass,_ ** _ Jon thinks and leads Damian to a stall, talking all the while with Damian interjecting at times, and Jon's so happy he could burst,  _ **_and he still doesn't have petals._ **

_ Jon orders a elephant ear and a lemonade, and watches as Damian tastes them, eyes sparkling, and Damian makes a small noise as he takes a bite. _

_ He doesn't even notice the way the fair warps around them, so focused on the way Damian scrunches his nose up at the taste of lemonade. _

_ “Did you like it?” Jon asks as they head to another ride, and their fingers are laced together, and Damian doesn't care. _

_ Jon's heart pounds in his chest. _

_ Damian smiles as him, and then Jon sees that there's no one else at the fair. _

_ The lights are still going, as cheerful as ever, but- _

_ No sound, except for their breathing. _

_ Jon frowns, hand tightening on his best friend's as he tries to hear heartbeats. _

_ None. _

_ But- _

_ Jon looks at Damian, and he's made of wood, face still stuck in that damn, twisted smile, and he opens his mouth and- _

**_“Jon.”_ **

_ It comes out gargled and glitching out, and Jon tries to let go, but his super strength isn't working, he can't break the wood- _

_ Damian laughs, and Jon runs. _

_ He runs until the fair disappears and he's left in darkness, until the only thing he can see is a silver pond surrounded by shadows trees, their branches dropping down until their leaves touch the ground. _

_ Jon drops to his knees, gasping for breath, and Damian's maniacal laughter echoes in his ears as he curls up, tears stinging his eyes, and he wants to scream, wants to sob, because petals are filling his throat and he _ **_knows_ ** _ that Damian is home for him. _

**_Home is where the heart is,_ ** _ Jon thinks bitterly, and it's the truth, because Damian has his heart in a vice grip and doesn't even know it. _

_Jon's never been Damian's home._

_ Leaves crunch under feet, and Jon lifts his head, because he knows this heartbeat, this  _ **_thump-thump-thump,_ ** _ knows it better than he knows his own mother's, and so when Damian stops in front of him, eyes gentle and dressed in a bone white Robin uniform, and his cape brushes against his shoes as he kneels. _

_ “Hey, Damian,” Jon whispers, voice rough as he wipes away his tears. “What a night, huh?” _

_ Damian scoffs, and pulls him to his feet. “Jon,” He says, and his hood is up, casting shadows across his face, and Jon resists the urge to pull it down. “Jon.” He says again, leaning up, and his face is a inch from Jon's. _

_ “Yeah?” Jon murmurs, and the silver pool bubbles angrily, a poisonous green starting from the bank. _

_ Damian's eyes are half lidded, Jon notes, and he can't quite manage to think anything else. _

_ Just as their lips almost touch, Damian blurs past him, and Jon whips around, only to drop as the water wraps around his ankle, energy drained completely. _

_ Damian just watches as he's pulled into the pond, and he looks apathetic, and Jon can't- _

_ “Damian!” He shouts, thrusting a hand out, and he hopes that Damian will take it, will not let this water kill him. _

_ Damian just smiles. _

_ Jon doesn't fight after that. _

_ Only as he's waist deep in the pond, and he coughs up petals until they land in the water, only then does Damian step forward. _

_ He cradles Jon's face in his hands, and kisses him. _

_ It's desperate and not at all kind, and Damian licks up the blood left from the petals, pulls back and swipes his tongue across his  _ _ lips to catch any left. _

_ “Damian?” _

_ “Goodbye.” _

_ And Jon knows that Damian's never loved him the way Jon loves him. _

_ The water tugs him under, and Damian's still staring, and Jon wants him to just  _ **_stop-_ **

Jon opens his eyes.

Damian's asleep by his side, tablet balanced precariously on his knee, and Jon grins, and it's painful, like he's chewing Kryptonite, but Damian shifts in his chair, and Jon automatically lifts him up and sets him down beside him, catching the tablet as it falls and lays down again.

He gazes at Damian's face and compares it to the one from his dreams, the way that he  _ smiled _ as Jon was murdered, and decides that he likes this Damian a lot better.

Jon rests his forehead on Damian's, and thinks,  _ god, but I love you, and nothing can change that. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a sugar cookie.
> 
> *Hands several*
> 
> They're small, like vanilla wafers, so have a couple.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Why won't you let me take care of you,_ Damian wants to scream as Jon takes a hit meant for him in battle, as Jon coughs up purple and blood, and Damian just-
> 
> Damian just wants to hide him away, wants to protect him from the cruelty of the world, from the way his classmates stare at him in pity, from the way Jon flinches as the emptiness that was once filled with Luthor's heartbeat, with his voice and steps, gets too much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *slides this towards you*
> 
> I'm tired as fuck, it's almost 3 in the morning I'LL EDIT LATER JUST ENJOY THIS FUCKING CHAPTER.
> 
> Sorry was still I on caps lock.
> 
> I don't even care right now.

Damian doesn't think he'll ever let Jon out of his sight again, not after he fell unconscious coughing up petals, not after he scared Damian so bad that he'd clutched Jon to his chest and snarled at anyone who came close.

Jon, though. Jon simply laughs it off, says that he wakes up with petals in his throat sometimes, _it's just a thing that happens, Damian, I'll be fine._

 _You will not be_ **_fine,_ ** Damian wants to shout at him, because he won't be. Jon's _dying_ , how could that ever be _fine?_

 _Why won't you let me take care of you,_ Damian wants to scream as Jon takes a hit meant for him in battle, as Jon coughs up purple and blood, and Damian just-

Damian just wants to hide him away, wants to protect him from the cruelty of the world, from the way his classmates stare at him in pity, from the way Jon flinches as the emptiness that was once filled with Luthor's heartbeat, with his voice and steps, gets too much.

Damian stares down at the list, knuckles white around his tablet, fury writhing in his chest as Jon chuckles roughly beside him, and Damian knows his neck aches from coughing.

Petals fall to the floor, and Damian marks another name off the list.

More than half of the names originally there was gone.

There's still at least seventy names left.

Hopelessness rises in him, as fierce and unrelenting as a wave, and Damian breathes shakily in despair.

He can't help Jon, not right now, not with the way he can't focus on the information swimming in front of him.

He hasn't slept in three days.

He can't _rest,_ can't keep on going with his life as though Jon hadn't almost _died,_ right there in his arms, hadn't had his last words be a frantic attempt of Damian's name.

He _can't._

Damian sets the tablet aside, attention returning to his best friend. Jon's always tried to not seem bothered by his disease, but Damian can see the way his shoulders droop, the way he sometimes stares into nothing, eyes distant as he tries to recall the way Luthor's heartbeat went, the way he remembers Luthor's last moments.

Damian can see, but he can't _help._

He hates it. Hates it more than he can say, because Jon knows what it will look like when he's only seconds away from death and-

“Why won't you get the surgery?”

Damian can't hold it in any longer. It's a serious question, but it's layered with desperation, with terror and sorrow in equal measure, and Damian can't hide the way his voice trembles.

Jon looks at him, face set in surprise, and Damian stares back, carefully folding his hands on his lap, one over the other, to conceal the way they quiver.

It doesn't work.

“What?” Jon asks, all faux confusion, and Damian snorts.

“Why won't you get the surgery?”

Jon's face shutters into sadness as he smiles. “I can't.”

“Why _can't_ you?” Damian challenges, and Jon's fingers twitch and curl into fists. Damian doesn't blink.

Jon will never hurt him, even under mind control. His compulsion to protect Damian is enough to deny that order; if Jon views it as harming his best friend, he won't do it.

It's a lesson one learns the hard way.

“I-I just can't.” Jon stutters, averting his eyes, and Damian practically flies to his feet, his glare enough to set anything aflame.

Never Jon, however.

Jon meets his glare head on, shoulders straightening. “Damian, if I do, then I will lose _all_ of my emotions towards him.”

“Would it really be so bad?” Damian shouts, throwing his arms wide, and watches as Jon grinds his teeth together, blue eyes flaring with anger.

“Yes!” Jon stands, and _oh,_ how his temper has arisen, his muscles tensing, and Damian thinks absently that this display of aggression should scare him, but it just makes him plant his feet and stay as Jon steps closer.

“It would be _terrible,_ Damian!”

Jon's only an inch away, his rage practically making sparks fly off his skin, and Damian bares his teeth.

“Why?” He roars, shoving his friend back, and his fury is making him see red. “Why would it be terrible, Jon?”

Jon allows himself to take two steps back, still livid enough that his pupils glow scarlet, and something carnal darts up Damian's spine at the sight.

“I can't tell you.” Jon said coldly, his lips lifting into an infuriated smile.

Clark frowns when he's furious and Jon smiles.

It's easy to tell who to watch out for just based on that.

Damian's feeling lightheaded, something close to intoxication clouding his mind as Jon becomes even closer, brow drawn in ire and mouth still in that smile that _should_ terrify him into submission, but only makes him want to keep Jon attention on him and nothing but him.

This anger is _his._ He helped make it, shape it into what it is today, and it's _his._ He shares it with others, but Jon knows that it's Damian's.

Everyone does.

“Why can't you?” Damian asks, voice low and almost seductive, and in his state of mind he almost notices the way Jon falters at the sound of it.

Almost.

Jon rallies himself, pushing forward in his indignation. “It's none of your business!”

Damian's self restraint shatters.

“It _is_ my business because _you're going to die because of him!”_

The last word sounds too much of a sob for Damian's comfort, and he sucks in a deep breath to stop the next one.

Jon's eyes soften, and the intimidating mood abruptly disappears as he tries to pull Damian into a hug.

Damian puts a hand on his chest to stop him.

“You can't. You can't just stop being so _angry_ with me!” He snaps, and he can't help the way his voice breaks in the middle.

Jon sighs, the air rattling in his damaged lungs as he shakes his head. “I can, and I am.” He coughs into his elbow, and guilt overwhelms Damian in an instant; how could he think about fighting with Jon when he's going to be in some of the final stages in a month or so?

Jon sits back down on the bed, drawing his knees to his chin, giving that painful smile that doesn't reach his eyes. “We're both scared, and so we lashed out.” Jon says, and he's already so wise, so smart as Damian plays catch up.

They're both silent, Damian attempting to keep the questions inside him and Jon lost in thought.

“I...I know that it's been a few months since Lex died,” Jon finally says, and from his tone, he's just thinking out loud. Still, Damian listens. “and I know that I should never have become attached to him like I did, but-”

He buries his face in his jeans. “But I did, and now he's gone. The world is just so much quieter now. I knew that he wouldn't get the surgery, like me. I think that his love died. He didn't… Didn't want to lose that.” Jon pauses, shuddering at the idea. “That's why I don't want the surgery. I don't want to feel nothing towards him. I'll know what I _felt,_ I just won't remember what it feels like to love everything he does.”

Jon hums, leaning back a bit to stare at the ceiling, eyes fluttering shut. “I can't do that.”

Damian stares at his best friend and eventually sits down softly beside him.

“Why won't you tell me who it is?" He whispers, and Jon laughs, full of broken glass and taped together joy.

“You'd never believe me if I told you.”

Petals land on the covers.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Damian:**
> 
> _You coughed up three petals._
> 
> _In your sleep._  
>     
>  **Me:**
> 
> _Yeah_
> 
> **Damian:**
> 
> _Your body's determination to kill you is astounding._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's so fucking hot and humid outside this is why I'm an introvert.
> 
> But here's this!

Jon stands in front of Luthor's grave at five in the morning, sickly hands clenched into fists and the typical chill of the hours before nine making his cheeks pink.

He doesn't understand.

People have defaced it, wrote curses over the stone, and torn apart the flowers Jon leaves for him.

He sits down, tears stinging his eyes as he stares.

He doesn't understand.

Why… Why would anyone ruin a grave?

He doesn't understand.

He leans forward so that his forehead rests against the cool gravestone, and closes his eyes.

“I'm sorry. I'll clean it up.” He murmurs, hardly daring to speak louder. Just because he's Superboy right now doesn't mean he can get angry and disrespect the dead.

So he leans back, grabs his bucket of soap and sponge, and starts to clean.

“Me and Damian had a fight the other day,” he says absently, gently scrubbing at the paint. “He wants me to get the surgery.”

He can imagine the way that Lex would roll his eyes at that, the way he cough and carefully wipe away the blood, expertise born from experience.

Jon laughs a bit, putting the sponge back into the water. “Yeah, he got mad when I said I wouldn't the first time.” He lifts the sponge back to the smooth stone. “He's just worried. He shouldn't be; this is just natural.”

The paint is gone, so Jon cleans up the area around Lex's final resting place and sets more flowers.

He places a hand on the top of the grave, thin fingers curved over the edge, and Jon doesn't even think about how he could destroy Lex's grave with a single push of one finger and he puts his weight on it, his free hand pulling out weeds.

“I mean… This has been happening for months now. I haven't said anything about the surgery.” Jon murmurs, and the wind whistles past his ears, and it's almost an apology.

He turns his brittle, barely there smile towards the sky and tries to think positive.

_I'll see Damian later._

Fair point. Any day spent with Damian is worth smiling about, even when his Hanahaki acts up around him.

“See you tomorrow, Lex. I need to go to school.” He tells the grave, and hopes that when he comes back, people won't have disrespected it more.

If not, well…

He'll say something.

 

\--

 

Jon stares at his school, the crowd milling around him, and has to sigh at the whispers.

“Is that Jon Kent?”

“The guy with Hanahaki?”

“Man, he looks like he should be at home.”

Jon coughs, shoulders shaking at two petals come up, and it burns, but it's something Jon's grown used to. He shrugs and lets them float to the ground, wiping the blood away on his jacket sleeve.

“Oh my god, did you see that?”

“He looks like he's going to drop dead any minute!”

“Wonder who he loves.”

Jon closes his eyes, slamming a fist into his chest. There's another petal that's come loose, and if he doesn't get it out now he'll collapse because of the build up.

He coughs again, and red covered purple falls.

The whispers flare up again.

“Did you _see_ that?”

Jon heads inside, not willing to listen anymore.

He grabs his books and walks to class, resolutely ignoring the way people talked, good or bad.

 _Yes, I have Hanahaki. Shut up about it,_ Jon thinks, irritation bubbling as he stalks to his seat, brow furrowed.

People stare and people chatter, but Jon's phone vibrated, so he's focused on that.

**Damian:**

_Are the imbeciles still talking?_

Jon muffles a laugh, grin already growing as the flower blooms a bit more.

**Me:**

_Yeah you'd think that they have better things to do_

**Damian:**

_Obviously not._

_How was your morning?_

Jon huffs, pushing his glasses up his nose at the reminder.

**Me:**

_Terrible people tore apart Lex's grave and I woke up with like three petals on my pillow_

A beat.

**Damian:**

_You coughed up three petals._

_In your sleep._

**Me:**

_Yeah_

**Damian:**

_Your body's determination to kill you is astounding._

Jon muffles a laugh, and four petals rise, smooth and painful as he puts a hand over his mouth.

**Me:**

_Yeah I guess so_

_You know what_

_We're going to McDonald's_

**Damian:**

_Why do you damn me with that monstrosity._

Jon hesitated over the keyboard, heart pounding.

Was he really going to type this?

Yes.

He sucks in a breath, gathers his courage, and brings his thumbs down.

**Me:**

_Because I love you_

_And I've been craving their cheeseburger and nuggets_

**Damian:**

_Jon, how I loathe you._

**Me:**

_You love me and you know it_

**Damian:**

_I tolerate you._

_There's a significant difference._

_Yeah, right_ , Jon thinks with a snort. Damian's the one who bothered him when they were ten and thirteen, when that were both young and Jon lived in Hamilton.

Then again, Jon's happy that he did, no matter how much the flower tries to hurt him.

**Me:**

_Yeah well the next time you choose but we're having McDonald's_

**Damian:**

_Fine._

The bell rings, shrill and _killing_ his ears, but Jon ignores it, finger tapping against his phone screen.

**Me:**

_Moms making lasagna tomorrow wanna come?_

**Damian:**

_Is she making the cheese rich?_

**Me:**

_Yeah why wouldn't she_

**Damian:**

_Then yes, I will come._

“Put your phone away!” Mrs. Haley snaps at him, and Jon jumps, looking up guiltily.

“Sorry,” he says, voice rough and he has to clear his throat of the leftover blood. “Sorry!”

**Me:**

_Got to go damian bye!_

Jon slips his phone into his pocket and gives a sheepish smile. Mrs. Haley only raises an eyebrow before returning to attendance.

Jon sits back in his seat, and the roots are digging in a bit more, curling right next to a vein, and Jon closes his eyes, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling.

He's only making his death come faster, Jon knows, but he's not going to just cut off all contact with Damian; he wouldn't be able to.

Besides, what's the worse that could happen?

The attack from two weeks ago flashes through his mind, and Jon grimaces, the flower shuddering in memory. Yeah, that's a thing that could happen.

Besides, Jon's seen enough movies to know that those are famous last words.

A shiver runs up his spine just as blood and petals mix and end up in his mouth.

Jon bites purple and swallows red, and he's seeing Damian later.

He hopes that his Hanahaki won't act up too badly, and knows that it's a futile wish.

 

\--

 

The bell rings for lunch, and Jon slowly gathers his things, hyperaware of the gazes on him.

His phone vibrates.

Jon already knows it's Damian; who else would be texting him in the middle of the school day?

He ignores it for now, zipping up his bag and settling it on his shoulders, eyes level and strides long.

Students follow him as he walks to the cafeteria, eyes and feet, they're both the same, and Jon's battle instincts are prickling.

He tugs out his phone, glancing at the message.

**Damian:**

_Are they staring?_

Jon chuckles, sending a glare at those doing it.

**Me:**

_Yes_

**Damian:**

_Do you want to leave early?_

Jon thinks of the test next period that he's not prepared for, of the way he's being looked at as though he's an endangered species, of the way that petals are lurking just under his tongue.

**Me:**

_Yes_

**Damian:**

_I'll be there in ten minutes._

_That's Damian,_ Jon thinks, and doesn't bite back the grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lasagna is fucking food of the gods right next to enchiladas.
> 
> Oh, and my family mixes ricotta, cottage cheese, and one egg into a bowl for the cheese in lasagna, and it's SO DELICIOUS.
> 
> Also, today is my cousin Danni's first birthday!!!
> 
> Have some cake!
> 
> *Hands cake*


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Can't believe you're taking me to the children's museum,” Jon says a moment later, a laugh in his voice.
> 
> Damian hums as he passes a car and slows to a stop at a red light. “It's not so bad.”
> 
> Jon snorts, stretching his arms above his head as Damian shoots past everyone else in the lanes around them. “Last time it was my turn to pick the activity for today you said it was a waste of time and that I'd learn more from lizards.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I got an ask on Anon about Damian laughing instead of crying when he's in pain and I fucking ran with it.
> 
> That's... Why Damian was laughing.
> 
> Hahahaha.
> 
> Let's move on.

Damian stares up at the high school, motorcycle helmet under his arm and sighs, running a hand through his hair.

He's been worried all day, nervously running through exercises and sketching in his room to try and calm down.

It didn't work, and he'd only drawn Jon coughing up blood and petals, that damnable smile still on his face as he cried.

Damian scowls and marches up to the side entrance, and he already knows exactly where Jon is, so he doesn't bother with going through the front office, like school regulations says.

Besides, he's Damian Wayne. Why would he bother with rules?

The crowd in the halls part before him as he stalks through the masses, a predator in a bright red jacket with the Superboy symbol emblazoned on the back in gold, a gift from Jon last year.

(It hasn't been Superman's symbol since Damian was fourteen and Jon was eleven, when Jon had broken out of a prison designed for Kryptonians when he had heard Damian starting to laugh hysterically.

Damian's glimpse of the  _ S _ was the first moment of relief from the pain, and when Jon had ripped the metal bands from his wrists, Damian had only started to laugh harder.)

He finds the cafeteria easy enough, and his blood boils when he sees Jon standing in the middle of a circle of people, clearly uncomfortable and-

Jon's shoulders shake in a way that Damian's become familiar with.

Damian grits his teeth and shoves his way through the crowd, heart in his throat as he hears the whispers.

“Oh my god, is he coughing up petals?”

“That looks painful!”

“Oh man, that's a lot of blood.”

“Jon!” Damian shouts above the noise, and his best friend's head snaps over to him, eyes wide.

“Dami-” Jon starts and breaks down into coughs, red splattered purple drifting to the floor.

Okay, that's  _ enough,  _ Damian decides, and kicks the girl in front of him in the back. She crashes to the floor with a shriek, and Damian promptly steps over her to grab his best friend's elbow.

Jon breathes a sigh of relief that rattles his lungs as everyone falls silent around them.

“Ready to go?” Damian asks, and his feet are frozen to the floor, can't even move as Jon stares, blood on his lips.

“Yeah,” Jon replies, and suddenly Damian can move, can fight his way through the abruptly deafening mob around them and all the while he's dragging Jon behind him.

Damian is not looking forward to McDonald's, but, for Jon, he'd eat anything.

It's just a fact of life.

 

\--

 

“So,” Jon says brightly as he slips on the helmet and flips the visor up. “Are we going somewhere before McDonald's?”

Damian pauses, one leg thrown over the seat as he glances over at Jon. “Do you…want to go somewhere?” he asks, unsure, and his fingers tighten on the handles, knuckles growing white.

“Well, kinda,” Jon says with a shrug, grinning with blood covered teeth, and Damian flinches at the hint of purple in between the red.

“Where do you want to go?”

Jon laughs, the sound rough and warm as he climbs behind him, arms already around his waist. “Wherever, I guess!”

Damian smiles and flicks his visor down as he starts the motorcycle. “Anywhere?” He says, mind whirling with places, and he's so nervous and excited, and his heart is doing that funny thing where it skips a beat.

“Yep,” Jon agrees without a thought, and Damian's heart jumps at the trust Jon so willingly places in him, even after everything Damian's put him through since he was ten.

“I have a few ideas,” Damian says, that lump of fear in his chest starting to loosen as he starts to drive out of the parking lot.

“Take me anywhere but here, and I'm your's!” Jon shouts with a laugh as he throws his hands into the air, petals slipping past his lips.

Damian's heart clenches at the words. “I thought you were already mine,” he mumbles without thinking, and Jon merely smiles as he wraps his arms around him again.

“Yeah,” he says softly, almost sadly as he tightens his grip, “I'm already your's.”

Damian doesn't know why, but that makes his lips lift and the band around his heart disappears. “Okay.”

He sucks in a deep breath and ups the speed. “Let's go to the museum first.”

“Which musuem?”

Damian throws a amused look over his shoulder, knowing that Jon can see it. “Which one do you think?”

Jon buries his face into Damian's shoulder the best he can with the helmet on. “Thanks,” he says, and Damian huffs.

“Don't mention it,” Damian answers without a thought.

“Can't believe you're taking me to the children's museum,” Jon says a moment later, a laugh in his voice.

Damian hums as he passes a car and slows to a stop at a red light. “It's not so bad.”

Jon snorts, stretching his arms above his head as Damian shoots past everyone else in the lanes around them. “Last time it was my turn to pick the activity for today you said it was a waste of time and that I'd learn more from lizards.”

“I stand by that,” Damian retorts, and bites back the chuckle at Jon's protest, “but it's you. And it's our day out, so I thought that I'd choose somewhere you like.”

Damian can practically _ feel _ the shock radiating from his best friend.

“...Thank you.”

Damian sighs and slows to a stop, parking his bike in the parking lot. “Like I said, don't mention it. Let's just have some fun, okay?”

Jon smiles and hops off, tugging his helmet off and doing the same to Damian's. “Okay.”

Damian stares into Jon's eyes, and Jon starts right back, and Damian's heart kick-starts into double time as Jon tangles their fingers together and heads for the entrance, already rambling on about the new exhibit.

Damian only gazes at the way Jon grins and the way that his happiness makes everything around him light up.

He tries to memorize this, tries to imprint this into his mind, but the next second, Jon turns to him, a laugh bubbling in his chest, and Damian forgets it entirely.

It's always been like this; Jon dazzling Damian at every turn, making his life just that much better when he smiles, and Damian tightens his grip on Jon's hand as though he'll vanish if he doesn't.

Jon coughs, and three petals land in his palm.

Damian snatches them and throws them into a nearby trash can as he wipes away the blood using his sleeve.

“Don't want to scare the children,” Damian says quietly, and for some odd reason he can't breathe when Jon catches his wrist before he can pull it away.

“Damian, I-”

Jon shakes his head and let's go. “I don't think there's a lot of kids there.”

Davin refuses to acknowledge the disappointment than crawls through his veins.

“Yeah, I guess,” Damian agrees, and that is that, no matter how much he wishes that Jon would've finished his sentence.

It's too late, the moment has passed, and so Damian tugs Jon into the museum.

He'll find out what Jon meant to say later. He always does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why why why WHY do I have a goddamn headache. Why. The fuck. Does my body hate me.
> 
> Whatever I'mma go take some Tylenol and go the fuck to sleep because I am NOT dealing with this headache right now.
> 
> (If you can't tell, I can't deal with headaches well. They suck so fucking much.)


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian still staring, though, face turning a light pink, and, _fuck,_ Jon wants to kiss him, wants to cradle his face in his hands and press his lips to Damian's, wants to look him in the eyes and say _I love you,_ but-
> 
> But Jon's love isn't something that's returned, and he's too much of a coward to confess, so he turns his gaze to the ceiling and hums as Damian rambles on after a moment of hesitation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo sorry I couldn't post this last night, I had no data!! But I have wifi now so here I am!
> 
> Also, I based this children's museum from the one in Indianapolis since I've been there and _loved it,_ so just look what the dinosaur section looks like up and you'll get what I was attempting to write.

Jon can't stop smiling. How can he, when Damian is staring at the dinosaur skeletons, the roars of the extinct ringing in his ears and the lights resembling a night sky shines on his face.

How can he, when Damian is laughing, is pointing out facts that the museum doesn't offer, is holding his hand as though he doesn't know he's doing it?

How can he, when Damian is with him?

“Jon, they're missing too many facts here-” Damian cuts himself off, and stares at Jon, who catches himself a moment before he kisses him.

Jon leans back, heart running a million miles, and forces a laugh he doesn't feel. “What facts,” he asks, and damn if he doesn't hate the flower in his chest.

_ It would make everything so much easier,  _ Jon thinks with a grin that's as fake as the plants around the skeletons.

Damian still staring, though, face turning a light pink, and, _ fuck, _ Jon wants to kiss him, wants to cradle his face in his hands and press his lips to Damian's, wants to look him in the eyes and say  _ I love you,  _ but-

But Jon's love isn't something that's returned, and he's too much of a coward to confess, so he turns his gaze to the ceiling and hums as Damian rambles on after a moment of hesitation.

Jon smiles, and let's Damian drag him to the Egyptian section, still talking, and God does he love his best friend.

He loves the fact that Damian knows these things, loves the fact that Damian cares enough to help him leave school, loves everything, the good, the bad, everything.

_ And that's why I have Hanahaki,  _ Jon thinks, and laughs as the flower rustles, pushes a few petals up his throat, and that laugh turns into a cough that he says doesn't hurt.

Damian turns alarmed eyes on him, hand already rising to catch the purple, and Jon only coughs more. “How many was that,” Damian asks, voice quiet and almost scared, and Jon squeezes his hand in comfort.

“Dunno,” he replies, and looks down at his friend's palm, and he sees Damian do the same. “Five, give or take.”

_ “Five,”  _  Damian hisses, and tugs him to a empty corner, eyes burning with rage and confusion, and Jon only gives a painful lift of lips.

“Yeah. It's, uh, been getting larger.”

Damian growls, and rests his head on Jon's chest, and Jon only wraps his arms around his friend's back and let's him blink back tears.

“Jon, if it's increasing, you have less time to live,” Damian tells him, and his voice breaks as he says it.

Jon hums, resting his chin on Damian's head and starts to rock side to side. Damian only stands there, hands clenched into fists at his sides, and Jon only closes his eyes as Damian starts to silently cry.

This is when he hates himself, more than anything, because Damian only cries when his family or Jon is involved, and even then it's not often, but Jon's always somehow managed to make him shed tears, and Jon can only hate himself for doing it.

“I'm sorry,” Jon says helplessly, and he doesn't know if he's apologising for loving him or dying faster.

Damian makes a choked noise, and lifts his arms to grip at Jon's shirt desperately. “What are you saying sorry for,” he asks with a sad laugh, and Jon shrugs.

“Not sure," he says honestly, and Damian snorts into his chest.

“Well, stop it.”

“Sorry.”

Damian buries his face into Jon's jacket and smiles half-heartedly.

Jon doesn't want to let go, he wants to keep Damian with him forever, but he does, and one of his hands rest on Damian's hips as the other wipes away the tears on his cheeks.

“Sorry,” he says again, and Damian grabs his wrist before he can pull it away.

Jon stops breathing.

Damian's mouth is set into a determined tilt, eyes blazing as he snarls out a  _ idiot,  _ and he tugs Jon into a hug. Jon can't resist as Damian rests his head on this shoulder and traps him in the warm cage of his arms.

“Don't fucking try to tell me it's going to be okay if you're going to die in only a few months, okay,” Damian rumbles into his ear, dark and dangerous as a thunderstorm, and Jon blinks. “And don't  _ ever _ try to apologise for it.”

Jon laughs lowly, arms wrapping around Damian's waist as he coughs up petals and blood onto Damian's jacket. Damian brushes it off, hand on the back of Jon's head and it  _ keeps _ Jon's head on his shoulder.

He doesn't say anything, doesn't even give a shaky breath, and Jon's  _ glad _ that he doesn't, because it just makes it easier when he finally breaks down and starts to sob.

 

\--

 

Damian wrinkles his nose at the salad in front of him, and Jon snorts.

_ McDonald's really does disgust him,  _ Jon thinks with puffed eyes as he grabs a chicken nugget and dips it in ketchup.

“How can you eat that,” Daman asks, and Jon rolls his eyes.

“Don't act as though you haven't taken any of my fries, Damian.”

“I have done no such thing,” Damian retorts with a sniff, and he stabs his salad with his fork.

Jon grins and takes a bite of his quarter pounder. “Whatever you say, Damian.”

His best friend shoves his salad away from him and leans his head back to stare at the ceiling, crossing his arms with a scoff.

“I refuse to eat such filth,” Damian declares, just as dramatic as ever, and Jon smiles even as his chest constricts with H.F Young Clematis shuddering and petals loosening from the center of the flower.

“And yet you eat it anyway.”

Damian falters, and Jon cackles at his expression.

“Well, I-” Damian starts, caught off guard, and Jon pats his cheek in fake pity.

“Don't worry, darling,” he drawls, and his accent from Hamilton makes his words turn slanted. “It's fine if you don't want to tell.”

Damian slaps his hand away with a scowl that sends Jon into a laughing-and-coughing fit again, and Jon-

Jon can't help but think that if he dies today, it'll be okay.

 

\--

 

“Y'know,” Jon says as they walk out the doors, swinging their hands and beaming, “it's a wonderful day outside.”

Damian glances over at him, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “And?”

_ “And,”  _ Jon laughs, “why don't we go to the park?”

“You have a park?”

“Yes!”

Damian takes a sip of his water and raises an eyebrow.

Jon groans, but he smiles all the same. “Fine, it's in the houses around the city, happy?"

Damian smirks and climbs onto his motorcycle. “Delighted,” he says, and Jon pinches his side as he gets behind him and pulls on his helmet.

“Whatever, just take us there.”

“As you wish,” Damian chuckles, and starts up the bike. “I hope you realize that you're going to get into trouble for skipping school.”

Jon makes a sound at that, thumping his head against Damian's back. “Ugh, don't remind me,” he says grumpily and his voice is hoarse against the drying blood.

Damian only shakes his head and changes lanes.

_ Wait a second. _

“You  _ helped  _ me skip school!”

Damian starts at that, shooting a look over his shoulder.  _ “What?” _

“You  _ took _ me out of school,” Jon shouts triumphantly, and satisfaction curls around the flower when Damian scowls.

“You agreed!”

“You offered!”

“You-”

Damian can't come up with something against that, and Jon laughs as he pats Damian's head. “Jon one, Damian zero.”

“Laugh now,  _ Kent,  _ and we'll see who's laughing once today is done,” Damian says, and anyone else would be frightened by the dangerous tone, but Jon merely grins.

“Yeah, yeah, we'll see,” he says, closing his eyes against the wind.

“We will.”

“Whatever you say.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahahahaha, I'm so evil aren't I? So close yet so far.
> 
> I had cupcakes but I left them at my friend's house, so unfortunately I don't have any to offer, but I DID slam a cupcake into my friend's brother's face when he insulted Damian, so.
> 
> Those cupcakes did their job.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “No,” Damian repeats, and turns away, firmly ignoring Jon's laughing cries for him to come back, because no, he will not come back, he is not associated with Jon's nonsense.
> 
> No.
> 
> “Stop acting like you don't know me, Damian,” Jon shouts, and Damian flips him off without looking back. The resulting cut off laugh and crash makes him smirk, and he settles down onto the swings, feet dragging in the mulch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS. CHAPTER. WOULD. NOT. END.

_ Perhaps, _ Damian muses as he watches Jon scramble up a tree, gold and red leaves falling to the ground,  _ I am simply a masochist. _

Because there's no other explanation for why he's worrying so much about Jon falling when he's invincible.

“Damian,” Jon calls with a cackle, and Damian looks up, arms crossed over his chest.

“What,” Damian asks, ready to snap at his best friend to  _ get down here right now before you start to cough, idiot! _

“Come up here, it has an amazing view,” Jon replies, and drops down to hang upside down in front of him with a grin splitting his face.

“No,” Damian says, and he puts both hands on Jon's face and shoves him away, because he may be concerned, but Jon is being ridiculous.

Jon only swings back, and Daman curses momentum at the sight of Jon's smug smile. “Come on,” his best friend whines, and drops down until he's not even hanging upside down anymore-he's floating, the bastard, and Damian huffs.

“No,” Damian repeats, and turns away, firmly ignoring Jon's laughing cries for him to come back, because no, he will not come back, he is not associated with Jon's nonsense.

No.

“Stop acting like you don't know me, Damian,” Jon shouts, and Damian flips him off without looking back. The resulting cut off laugh and crash makes him smirk, and he settles down onto the swings, feet dragging in the mulch.

Jon pops up from the pile of leaves, face red from embarrassment and indignation, and Damian laughs and laughs some more when Jon stalks up to him, yelling about making him shut up.

“You can try,” Damian shoots back, and Jon bares his teeth as he tackles him.

Or, at least tries too.

Damian smoothly kicks him in the face as he starts to swing, and Jon falls to the ground with a yelp of surprise that just makes Damian start to snicker.

His feet seem to gaze to clouds as he reaches the highest he'll go, and a grin steals across Damian's face for as long as he's up in the air.

Jon leaps at him the second he's close enough to the ground without it seeming suspicious, and they land on the grass, rolling over and making play jabes at each other, and somehow Damian ends up on top, hands on either side of Jon's neck and knees the same around his thighs.

Damian blinks down as his heart starts to beat faster and his face starts to turn red for some reason.

Jon simply snorts.

“Is this the time where you say  _ pinned ya,”  _ he jokes, and Damian blinks again, slowly this time, and it takes a minute for him to realize Jon's making a reference to the Lion King.

“I-” Damian clears his throat. “Yes, I suppose so.” He leans in close, a slow smirk spreading on his lips, and he says, “Pinned ya,” right next to Jon's ear.

Jon shivers in response, cheeks going from pink to scarlet as his mouth opens and closes, and Damian draws back, eyes locking onto Jon's cracked and dry lips.

Jon takes a staggered breath, and Damian drags his gaze up to Jon's eyes, and oh wow, he really wants to-

He's starting to lean in before he even thinks about it, a heat in his stomach and a cloud over his mind, and Jon seems to lift his head to meet him him as their lips almost touch-

Damian jerks away at the last possible moment, face burning with shame and anger, because Jon is in love with someone else, and he doesn't have _ time _ for that, and why did he try to kiss Jon anyways, he's Jon, his _ best friend. _

God, how stupid can he be?

“I. Need to,” Damian stammers, and he's even stumbling over his words as he scrambles to his feet. Jon sits up slowly, coughs gently shaking his shoulders, and there's-there's something there, something sad, and Damian pays it no mind, because  _ holy fuck _ he needs to get away.

“Bye,” he blurts out, and sprints to his bike, starting it up the second he can and speeding away, leaving his best friend among the leaves and confusion festering in his heart.

 

\--

 

“For some absurd reason, Father has decided to throw a gala,” Damian complains over the phone, buttoning up his jacket, and he scowls as Jon laughs at him.

“Damian, when isn't your dad absurd,” Jon asks, and Damian opens his mouth to protest when Jon bulldozes right over him. “That's right, never. Just get through the night and then come visit me.”

Damian groans and adjusts his bowtie in the mirror. “But it's-it's  _ stupid!  _ There's absolutely no legitimate reason to throw a gala,” he says, and Jon coughs. Damian narrows his eyes at his phone, because he _ knows _ that cough, and it only happens when Jon's trying to cover up a laugh at his expense.

“What,” he says flatly, and Jon starts to cackle.

“When you're Batman or something, you'll throw galas for no reason too,” he giggles, and Damian scoffs in denial.

“I will do no such thing,” he sniffs, and heads downstairs to meet his guests.

He can't wait for this to be over.

“You so will.”

“Will not.”

“Will so!”

“Will  _ not-” _

Damian's cut off by Father grabbing his cell phone and holding it away while raising an eyebrow. “Flirt later,” he commands, and ignores Damian's sputtered attempts at saying that they aren't flirting, because  _ that's not what's happening, Father- _

He gives Damian a long, measured look that drains the fight out of him.

“I will end the call,” Damian says quietly, and Father nods, already plastering on a fake smile.

“I'll speak to you later,” he says into the phone, and Jon says the same before ending the call.

Damian feels oddly affronted at not being the one who ends it, but he puts the phone into his pocket all the same, and says standard greetings that mean nothing to the rich.

Ugh.

He ends up in a corner, holding a flute of champagne that he's not going to drink, and he's so incredibly bored that he's about to take out his phone again when a man around two years older than him walks up to him.

_ Walks the wrong word,  _ Damian thinks, because it is.  _ Maybe more like saunters. _

“Hello, Mr. Wayne,” the man says, and Damian gives him an assessing glance.

Five foot nine, black hair, practically no muscles to speak of, blue eyes, open face.

Jacob Talonstar, heir to a large cosmetics company.

“Mr. Talonstar,” Damian murmurs, and Jacob's eyes seem to darken at the way Damian says his name.

_ Not the right shade of blue,  _ Damian thinks idly, and doesn't know why the thought came.

“Please, call me Jacob.”

Damian turns a smile that has a little too much teeth in it to Jacob, and says, “Then call me Damian.”

“Well, Damian,” Jacob says with a devious smile, and holds out one hand, “why don't we dance?”

Damian cuts a look over at his father, and his parent gives him a sharp nod.

Damian sighs internally, takes Jacob's hand, and gives a saccharine sweet smile. “Of course,” he purrs, and let's himself to be lead to the ball floor.

A slow song starts as others start to pair up, and Damian allows himself to be lead in the dance.

“You have wonderful timing, Jacob,” Damian says lowly, and Jacob hums.

“I always have, lovely,” he says charmingly, and Damian holds back a grimace. Since Gotham found out he's not restricted to girls in terms of attraction, males have come flocking.

And here he thought that Jacob might have been different.

“Why, are you flirting with me, Jacob,” Damian asks, steel hiding under imitation flattery, and Jacob grins in a way that's extremely unflattering.

_ Too big, too expectant,  _ Damian finds himself thinking.  _ Not enough enthusiasm, not enough naivety. _

“Indeed I am, Damian,” Jacob says willingly as they spin into another note from the violins.

Damian rolls his eyes delicately. “You aren't after a partnership, are you, my dear?”

This is why he hates galas. He's forced to pull on every lesson of seduction from the League to even get through the evening, and it turns his stomach.

Jacob grins. “That is what my family is after,” he says, and Damian closes his eyes in mock shock.

“I had only guessed, Jacob, but I assume you want more than that?”

Jacob holds him tight by the hand and smiles as he dips him, and Damian realizes a second too late what his plans are.

“Smile for the camera, lovely,” Jacob says, and kisses him, and it's not nice, or even pleasant. It's more an invasion of privacy than anything, and the feel of Jacob's tongue in his mouth is enough to make Damian sick.

Flashes of white freeze him, and Damian can only stay in place until Jacob pulls him back up and the song ends.

“Preview if you ever wish to contact me,” Jacob tells him with a perverted smile, and the implications make Damian want to throw up.

“As if I would ever do such things with you,” Damian hisses, heart aching with _ something,  _ and he walks away on shaking legs and with trembling fists, but he  _ walks away, _ and he's going to Jon's.

“Father, I need to leave,” Damian says, and his parent looks over at him.

“You can't leave until the night is over,” Father replies, and dread forms in Damian's gut.

“Father, please-”

“Damian,” Father interrupts, voice stern, and Damian stares at the ground, the feeling of Jacob's lips on his nauseating.

“Yes, Father,” he says softly, and Father nods once, satisfied, and all Damian wants to do is  _ scream,  _ but he doesn't, he just goes, brushes his teeth, and stays in the crowds for the next three hours, and he doesn't even use his phone, because he feels like he's betrayed Jon, somehow.

Jacob looks like Jon, just a little bit, and Damian doesn't know why he feels like this, but he does, so he doesn't text, and doesn't call, he just.

Exists. He's not really there, for last three hours of the gala, but by god can he feel rage. He wants hunt Jacob down and make him plead for death, he wants to crush his company, his livelihood under his heel, wants to grind it to dust and make him _ watch. _

Damian closes his eyes and calms down.

The fact that he was kissed isn't that new, it's the fact that he looks like his best friend-

Damian opens his eyes.

_ What would kissing Jon be like,  _ he wonders.  _ Would it be slow, fast? Sweet or desperate? _

His mind flashes back to the almost kiss, and his face burns.

“No more thinking about Jon,” he says aloud, and ignores the pang in his chest.

Jacob's staring at him.

Damian snarls and melts back into the crowd.

Fuck, Jacob. He's shorter than Jon, nose crooked and hands thin and unruffled by work.

Damian grits his teeth and tries to make it through the night. He'll see Jon later. He'll see him later, and explain everything, lay out what he's been feeling, his confusion and his list that only has ten names left.

He just has to make it to midnight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to use Talon, but uh. Court of Owls. Enemy.
> 
> Thanks the desolationofzara for listening to my rambles! They know what's happening next! X3


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "This is why you don't fall in love with your best friend," Jon says bitterly, and the flower in his chest shudders and opens, and blood falls out of his mouth as he coughs up petals.
> 
> One, two, three, four...
> 
> Who's counting?
> 
> Jon isn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early chapter!
> 
> That's all I have to say.

His phone's long since been thrown to the floor, but the image of Damian kissing someone is burned into his mind, and Jon-   
  
Jon can't fucking  _ breathe. _   
  
_ Stupid, _ he thinks as he buries his face into his knees.  _ Stupid, stupid, stupid. _ __  
  
"This is why you don't fall in love with your best friend," Jon says bitterly, and the flower in his chest shudders and opens, and blood falls out of his mouth as he coughs up petals.   
  
One, two, three, four...   
  
Who's counting?   
  
Jon isn't.   
  
He knew the moment that he coughed up purple that his love is hopeless, helpless, and yet-   
  
_ And yet,  _ Jon thinks, and coughs up more purple onto his pajama pants. And yet he thought-   
  
He thought that the fact that Damian almost,  _ almost _ kissed him while they were at the park meant something.   
  
He should have known it didn't.   
  
People with Hanahaki don't get loved back. Unrequited love is the cause, the disease that poisons the body, and the flower is only a symptom.   
  
_ I should have known, _ Jon thinks, and stumbles to the bathroom, and he's still coughing up red and purple, and  __ Damian was kissing a man who looks like him-   
  
Jon laughs, the sound rattling inside dead lungs and rustling petals as he sinks to the floor.   
  
"I should have known."

 

\--

 

He's not sure how long he stays there, in that bathroom, surrounded by petals and blood on his lips, but Jon surfaces from the doze he's fallen into when there's a knock on his window, and there is only one person that could be.

He struggles to his feet, legs shaking and coughing painfully with that fucking flower trembling.

God, he's never hated it, but he does now.

He heads to his window and let's Damian in, and his best friend tumbles to the floor, eyes panicked and normally,  _ normally _ Jon would help him to his feet, would ask what's wrong, but  _ fuck him. _

So he crosses his arms across his chest and gives the coldest glare he's ever given. “What do you want,” he demands, heart aching as Damian looks up at him, confused and hurt, but. No.

No,  _ fuck him. _

“Jon,” Damian starts as he gets to his knees, hands clenching into fists, because he doesn't know how to deal with the emotions rolling through him, and anger at everything is easier than anything.

Jon knows this.

But he fans the flames, because he's  _ angry,  _ more angry than he's ever been with Damian, because that fucker  _ looks like him. _

“What do you _ want,”  _ he says again, and irritation sparks in Damian's eyes, and he rises to his feet, a snarl starting to form on the lips Jon desperately wants to kiss.

Blood bubbles in his throat, and Jon spits it out, copper staining his tongue.

“What's your problem,” Damian growls, and Jon laughs, harsh and void of humor.

_ “My problem,”  _ he barks, and slams Damian into the wall so fast he's only a blur of color.  _ “My problem?” _

Damian breaks away from the spiderweb of cracks on the wall and a flare of worry spikes, but it's smothered by the sudden roar of rage that rings in his ears as Damian gets in his face.

“Yes! What's your problem, Jonathan?”

Jon grabs his phone from the floor and shoves the photo in Damian's face.

“You want to know what the fuck my problem is, Damian,” Jon shouts, and with a simple tap of his finger, Damian's against the wall again, only this time Jon follows, pressing close and a sneer on his face. “Here it is.”

Damian squints at the screen and blanches, and Jon laughs at his fear. “That's my problem. You fucking-”

Jon cuts himself off mid sentence, and he looks away, voice breaking as his heart does the same.

_ Fuck,  _ why does this hurt so much? He knew that this would happen someday, it's just-

Jon doesn't know. He doesn't know why this  _ hurts _ so much, doesn't know why the pain flairs, why his vision is blurry and covered in scarlet, but it _ is. _

It _ is, _ and Damian's so close, so close Jon can see the flecks of silver in his eyes, and he wants to kiss him, wants to bite his lips until they bleed, wants to hold him here and-

Jon squeezes his eyes shut. That's not him.

Damian's eyes soften, and he reaches out to push Jon's phone against his chest. “Jon,” he says quietly, almost deafening in the sudden silence, and he sounds-sounds so understanding that Jon faces him, petals between his teeth and cheeks wet with tears.

“Jon, I'm sorry,” he says, and Jon curls up until his head on Damian's shoulder, sobs catching in his throat, and holy  _ fuck,  _ why does that sound ominous?

“Sorry for what,” Jon asks, hoarse and so, so tired, and Damian tentatively presses his lips to Jon's hair and wraps his arms around his shoulder.

“I don't even know. He kissed me, then propositioned me,” Damian huffs, and Jon grips the back of his best friend's armored tunic, purple falling to the ground and lips dripping red.

“Really,” Jon replies, voice tight, and Damian laughs, and it's more of a breath of air than anything, but Jon takes it.

“Yes. He was quite the detestable man; only wanted a business deal, and I've heard rumors that he's been sleeping his way through high society to help keep his company afloat,” Damian says, amusement in the way his voice rose and the vibrations in his chest.

“So, he's basically a sugar baby.”

“Yes.”

Jon can't quite let go, can't quite manage to stop this hug, and he feels empty. The fury that scorched through his veins has disappeared, leaving him hollow.

Frankly, Jon thinks that if Damian wasn't here to keep him together, he'd have shattered at least thirty minutes ago.

Still, he forces a laugh, because he knows that's something he would normally find funny, and he doesn't want Damian to worry.

“He wanted you to be a sugar daddy,” he wheezes, and Damian smiles against his hair. “Isn't he older than you?”

“By at least two years,” Damian agrees, and Jon snorts.

“He can't be a sugar baby to you, then. Maybe your dad, but not you.”

Damian shudders, and Jon laughs again, this time genuine as Damian hisses out a, “Don't you _ dare _ say that again.  _ Ever.” _

Jon starts to laugh, and he can't stop, and eventually Damian joins in, and then they're just a laughing, snorting, mess on the floor, and,  _ wow,  _ Damian is beautiful when he grins.

Why are they laughing again?

“It's like, four in the morning,” Jon giggles, face red and lungs aching, and Damian nods, and he's struggling to keep a straight face, but when Jon pokes his side, he dissolves into gasping chuckles. “I think it's a little late for you to go home.”

Damian shrugs, and Jon grabs the side of his bed, hauling them up and dumping his best friend onto the mattress before flopping beside him.

“I'm tired,” Jon complains, smacking his best friend's stomach with one hand, and Damian shakes his head in exhausted exasperation.

“Then go to sleep,” he says, and Jon pouts at him.

“You're laying on my blanket,” Jon tells him, and Damian scowls, wrapping his arms around Jon's waist and glares at the door.

Jon flushes red and tries not to cough.

“Go to sleep,” Damian orders, and buries his face into his chest.

Jon squirms, because  _ wow,  _ Damian is super close!

He's also a literal furnace, but that's nothing new; the thing that is _new_ is the fact they they almost kissed and it's been at least two years since they last shared a bed.

Silence reigns for a few minutes, and Damian's almost dropped off to sleep, Jon can _ feel it,  _ but-

“You're still on my blanket.”

Damian presses a pillow over his face with a groan, and, yeah okay, maybe Jon deserves that.

That doesn't mean he'll fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so about that anger. You ever have that friend, where if they _really_ break down, they'll go from "ready to kill a bitch and laugh at their corpse" to "cry rivers of tears" in like a split second.
> 
> Jon is that friend.
> 
> As am I. Aayye you learn something new everyday.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian sighs, pulling his best friend into a hug that he doesn't return, hands dangling at his sides as Damian rests his head on his shoulder, wincing faintly at the way his neck protests violently at the action. “I've had worse,” he says, and it's true. Bruises made in a fit of fury isn't anything compared to the way his mother trained him.
> 
> “You shouldn't have,” Jon grumbles, and Damian huffs gently, tightening his grip, because he's heard that before, from everyone he knows.
> 
> Jon's just the first to say it so often.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be honest I've had over half of this done for like a week, but didn't finish it until today, so.
> 
> *Shrugs and hands chapter* I'm not very happy with it, but here it is!

When Damian wakes up, his back is _ aching,  _ and it has nothing to do with the way Jon's decided to curl his hand around Damian's shoulders and rest his cheek on Damian's head, and everything to do with their fight last night.

“Shit,” he hisses, and winces as the familiar pain of bruises washes over him. Jon shifts in his sleep, pulls Damian a little closer to his chest, and Damian flinches, because  _ ow. _

“Go back to sleep,” Jon mumbles sleepily, and Damian huffs into his collar bone.

“Easier to say than done,” he retorts, and sits up, disregarding the way his best friend flails at him half-heartedly. “Just grab a pillow. I'm up for good.”

Jon nods, eyes dazed with sleep, and flops down onto his mattress, and Damian rolls his eyes as he slips off the bed.

The floor is thankfully covered with carpet unlike his own, so he stands there for a moment, squinting at the door. It's been awhile since he slept so well, and it's a little disconcerting.

Really. Why did he get REM sleep last night?

_ Well,  _ he thinks, and heads to the bathroom to check out the damage, locking the door behind him.  _ Doesn't matter now. _

He turns on the light, unbuttons his dress shirt, and scowls when he sees the blue-purple on his shoulders and creeping down onto his arms.

_ Goddamn human skin. _

A twist, and pain shoots through his torso, and he can't hold back a small gasp.

Jon's at the door within a moment, pounding on the door worriedly, and Damian rolls his eyes fondly.

“I'm fine, Jon,” he calls, and his best friend scoffs.

“I know what you sound like when you're hurt,” he says back, and Damian groans, covering his face with his hands as he leans against the sink.

“I'm  _ fine,”  _ he says again, and Jon promptly bursts through the door, handle banging against the wall as he looks over him frantically, and his eyes widen as he takes in his bruises.

“Damian, why are you,” Jon starts, already on a warpath and with _ no concept of volume- _

“-It's from when you shoved me into the wall,” Damian interrupts, and rubs gently at a small bruise on his chest, irritation already rising. “It's fine. They'll be gone within two weeks.”

Jon's face crumbles, and he reaches out, but falters. “I hurt you,” he whispers, and he sounds horrified, sounds frightened, and  _ that will not stand- _

Damian sighs, pulling his best friend into a hug that he doesn't return, hands dangling at his sides as Damian rests his head on his shoulder, wincing faintly at the way his neck protests violently at the action. “I've had worse,” he says, and it's true. Bruises made in a fit of fury isn't anything compared to the way his mother trained him.

“You shouldn't have,” Jon grumbles, and Damian huffs gently, tightening his grip, because he's heard that before, from everyone he knows.

Jon's just the first to say it so often.

“What's done is done,” he says briskly, and pulls back to pay Jon on the cheek. “Now get out so I can take a shower. I know I've left some clothes here, go find them.”

Jon moans in despair and goes boneless. Damian let's him drop to the floor, and only raises an eyebrow as he glares up at him. “Why'd you drop me?”

“Because,” Damian replies, and kicks him in the side. “I need you to get out.”

Jon scrunches up his nose, and he's ready to protest, Damian knows, but then his face goes red, and he's out the door within a second, shutting it quietly behind him.

Damian snorts a laugh and starts up the water as he gets out of this remains of his suit, which, by the way, is  _ incredibly _ uncomfortable to sleep in, and he makes the water as hot as possible to compensate.

Time to ponder on his confusing feelings for Jon.

He’s not really looking forward to this, but it is a thing he must do, so he let's the scalding water relax his muscles, and thinks.

Last night, he kept on comparing Talonstar to Jon, despite the fact that he would normally consider the features of a person and deem them unattractive or attractive and move on with his life. But he didn't. Instead, he got disgruntled by the way Talonstar resembled Jon, instead of noticing that they had a passing resemblance.

Damian frowns and grabs shampoo, because that's another thing to wonder about.

Why _ did _ he do that?

He can't come up with anything.

So… He moves onto another topic.

What _ exactly _ are his feelings for his best friend?

Damian thinks, and the water is gradually turning cold, but he can't come up with anything again.

Fuck.

 

\--

 

Jon's gone by the time he gets out of the shower, but Damian knows that he's just downstairs getting breakfast, since he _ also _ knows that he hates going anywhere in the morning without a shower.

So he dresses in a red long sleeved shirt and dark pants, then heads downstairs, because he still needs to discuss things with Jon.

The smell of pancakes hits his nose, and Damian stops in the doorway of the kitchen, closing his eyes as he takes a deep breath, practically _ tasting _ it. He hears Jon moving around, pans clattering and batter sizzling, and he's humming distractedly as he cooks, the sound rumbling in his chest, and Damian opens his eyes.

Jon places a finished pancake on a tower of pancakes, red and pink peeking out between the golden brown, and Damian realizes that the batter is filled with strawberries. He bites back a smile, because Jon is predictable in what he wants in his breakfast, and it always includes strawberries.

Always.

A pancake drops to the ground, and Jon curses quietly, grabbing it and throwing it to Krypto, who barks happily and eats it in two bites, and before Jon was fourteen, he never cursed, not once, but Damian had worn him down and living in the city hadn't helped.

It's hilarious, honestly, and Damian laughs as Jon whirls around, spatula at the ready and Damian laughs even harder.

Jon's cheeks darken, and he scowls disapprovingly at Damian as the timer on the oven goes off, and he turns on his heel to get the muffins and biscuits out as Damian chuckles at the way that he scrambles to get them out before the pancake burns.

“Shut up,” Jon shouts above the clatter of the oven door closing, and Damian sits down as Jon quickly flips the pancake and settles the pans down on the counter.

_ Fuck, this is domestic, _ Damian thinks, and flushes at the way a pleased smile comes up on his face at the thought.  _ This is incredibly domestic. _

A warm feeling in the pit of his stomach pops up where jealousy and rage had been not twenty-four hours ago, and this is not bad at all.

_ In fact, _ Damian decides as Jon places a cup of coffee just the way he likes it in front of him,  _ it's absolutely perfect. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Breakfast Club is weird. I finally watched it all the way, and I like it, but it's weird.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's fine with his life, now. He's helping people, saving them from threats that they can't survive against, and that's wonderful. It's the best feeling in the world.
> 
> (The best feeling in the world is high-fiving Damian with a wild smile and a ache in his knuckles and getting a deadly smirk in reply.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're getting close to kissing, I can feel it in my bones.
> 
> A few more chapters.
> 
> Only a few.
> 
> I think.

Damian's left five minutes ago, but Jon keeps on staring at his pancakes, untouched and soaked in syrup.

_You hurt him, you hurt him, you hurt him._

No matter what he does, the bruises that _he caused_ keep on flashing in his mind, and Jon _hates_ the strength that he has, _hates_ the way he explodes when things get too much, hates it, hates it, _hates it-_

He forces a smile, picks up his plate, and throws his food away. He can't eat. He can't show the way he's cut up inside, the way he's horrified at himself, because he's Jon Kent, the boy who's always smiling, and he's had his outburst already, no need to have another one. He's good.

He's totally _fine._

The plate cracks in his hand, and Jon bites his lip as the shards fall to the floor, no blood to speak of and no cuts.

No falling apart.

He doesn't need it.

Yes, he hurt Damian. Yes, that's something he's _never_ done before, at least not consensually, not _willingly_ because he never wants to hurt him. Never _ever_ has he entertained the thought of drawing blood _purposefully_ with his mind his own. And yet-

And yet he did.

Jon _saw_ the dried blood on his nose, on his arms, and he has never despised himself more. That's _Damian._ Damian who he loves, Damian who came to him when he was confused, Damian who had looked at him this morning and opened his mouth and shut it, and Jon _hurt him._

He'd shoved him into a _wall,_ for God's sake, and didn't care that he was using too much strength, that he was using it against the terrifyingly human Damian.

The flower throbs in time with his heart, and six petals come up, one after the other, and Jon doesn't stop the blood from staining his lips, from dripping to his shirt as he stands in the middle of his kitchen, glass powder falling to the floor like tiny diamonds, and he wishes that Damian didn't know him.

If he didn't know Jon, then he wouldn't have bruises on his skin, wouldn't have had to be slammed into a wall with a flick of a finger, and that's-

That's something that Jon wants more than anything. He doesn't want Damian to be hurt, has never wanted that, not even when they first met and Jon was an angry, righteous ten year old and Damian a obnoxious, too dangerous for his own good thirteen year old.

Jon doesn't want to hurt people. He never has, never wanted to punch someone in the face with only a fraction of his strength and have them end up with a broken face.

Never wanted to have Hanahaki either, but that's what happened.

He's forced into this life. If Jon had a choice when he was ten and _furious_ with his parents, he'd never have taken the Superboy title. He'd quietly learn how to control his powers and, yeah, _maybe_ gotten a little cocky, but he'd never fight.

But he's half Kryptonian. He's the son of Clark Kent, of Kal-El of Krypton, and whoops, there he went with that jacket and ripped jeans, helping to go save the world.

He's fine with his life, now. He's helping people, saving them from threats that they can't survive against, and that's _wonderful._ It's the best feeling in the world.

(The best feeling in the world is high-fiving Damian with a wild smile and a ache in his knuckles and getting a deadly smirk in reply.)

But there's that ten year old still looking at the blood on his hands after a battle, still looking at the bruises on Damian's back that's scared. That ten year old is scared and remembering the cat he tore apart with just his eyes, and wondering what he can do before he hurts someone irreparably.

And, truthfully, Jon would love to listen to that ten year old sometimes.

Maybe when he's eighteen. Maybe when he can give up the title of Superboy and decide if he wants to continue fighting crime.

Well, that was the plan before flowers grew in his lungs and clogged his throat and only confirmed what he knew.

He wonders if Damian would support him if he didn't.

One, two, three.

The petals leave red when he picks them up.

No matter.

He'll have to be careful. He should have remembered to be careful last night, but he was just so-just so _angry_ that he hadn't cared. Couldn't care, really.

Work on control.

Then decide what to do.

 

\--

 

Jon takes a long shower, water hot enough to scorch a normal person, and simply stands there.

Oh, it's hot alright, but the great thing about impenetrable skin is that hot water can't really hurt him.

Advantage of having superpowers in the domestic sense, Jon thinks, and has to give a weak laugh at that.

More blood, three more petals.

Jon stares down impassionately as purple swirls around with red and sighs as that familiar pang of sadness hits his chest.

He'll be dead soon, Jon knows, and the thought frightens him, though perhaps not for the right reasons. He wants the pain to be gone, but he knows better than to think that the emotional agony ends with him. Everyone is suffering with him, and when he goes - not if, _when -_ they'll be the ones left behind.

Funerals are for the living, not for the dead, and Jon won't be among the living this time; this time he'll be the one with rotting petals in his chest and no heartbeat, and the fact that his loved ones, the fact that _Damian_ will have to look at his corpse and be left alone, be left without him?

 _That's_ what terrifies him.

Supers aren't really scared of death in the traditional sense, at least Jon isn't. Deaths just another thing they'll punch through to get back, but it's not that way for others, and Jon doesn't think he'll have the power to do what his dad did so many times and _destroy_ what's keeping his soul from his body and get up.

Jon isn't that strong.

But, hell, if Damian looks at his grave and says, “I need you,” then…

Then Jon will do his best to get back, because Damian doesn't admit that to just _anyone,_ and he wants to earn it, but he supposes that he can't now, not with how little time he has left.

Jon grimaces and rinses his hair as someone knocks at the door, hesitant yet demanding, and he's not really focusing on heartbeats, and he doesn't really want to, so he shuts off the water and steps out in a cloud of steam.

 _Might as well go see who it is,_ he thinks and wraps the towel around his waist, trudging to the front door.

He isn't expecting Damian, hand still raised as if he's about to knock again, and eyes wide.

Jon's abruptly very acutely aware of the fact that he's wearing only a towel and has a petal on his shoulder, and makes a noise, slamming the door shut.

Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awkwardness abounds! (Hahaaaaa please let me escape from the baby shower my aunt is throwing tomorrow please let me escape.)


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Being in love is a lot like a puzzle,_ someone in Gotham had said as he chuckled and reached for a drink in a bar. _Some fit and some don't, but the one you love fits perfectly like the others don't._
> 
>  _What are you, a philosopher,_ another had laughed, and the man only shook his head.
> 
>  _Just someone who has seen a lot of life,_ he had replied, and Damian had to move away before he could hear the rest.
> 
> “A wise man,” he says, and nods his head towards that nameless man who was in that run down bar in Crime Alley, that man who had old eyes and dark hair and a cheap beer in one hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all SO MUCH for being so patient! This chapter really flows well, in my opinion, and guess!! What!!!
> 
> DAMIAN FINALLY REALIZES IT.

There's a reason Damian never crossed his name off the list.

There's a reason his stomach lurches when Jon smiles at him, warm and happy and _alive._ There's a reason why he gets so angry when someone insults his best friend, why he kept on comparing Talonstar to Jon, why he's done that for years.

There's a _reason,_ but it's _impossible._

Damian growls and paces in the hallway, hands jerking as he stops them from burying in his hair. He-

He can't be in love with Jon.

He _can't._

Jon is his best friend, the one who understands him the most, the one who only grins at the way he gets frustrated and lures him away from work. Jon is the one who laughs, who looks at him and sees something worthwhile, even after Damian told him everything at fifteen. Jon is the one who, at age ten, looked Damian in the eyes and refused to put up with his antics, who stared at him in that quiet, tragic way of his and whispered, “What happened to you,” when Damian had decimated an entire squadron of trained grunts on automatic.

Jon is the one person who-who-

Damian slams a fist into the wall and groans.

Fuck, why does it have to be him? Why is it _always him?_

The first Damian took to so quickly, the first who Damian told in full of what his childhood was like, the first who Damian told, in short, halting breaths what it was like to die.

Jon's been a first for many things for him, but he should never have been _this._

“Dammit,” Damian sighs, and sinks to the floor, leans against Jon's door and hangs his head as though in prayer to a god he doesn't believe in.

 _I'm a fool for not realizing it sooner,_ he thinks without amusement, and he truly is.

He's been in love with Jon for years. It's only now that he knows it.

When he looked at Jon as they ate, as Jon laughed and teased and tossed him strawberries, Damian had looked at Jon and almost called him Beloved.

Because he is.

He had asked his mother, when he was younger and innocent, what it was like to fall in love while dressed in his father's cowl and kicking his feet that dangled off his mother's bed.

“Mama, what's it like to fall in love,” he had asked, all of five and curious, and she had stopped in brushing her long hair and looked at him in the mirror.

“Damian,” she had said, “falling in love is something that is not instantaneous. It is something that burns and grows in your heart until one day you realize it. It hits you in the face.”

Damian had giggled. “Like my teacher when I answer wrong?”

Her face had gone dark for a moment. “No,” she had told him, regal as a queen as she stood. “Nothing like that. It's shocking, but it does not hurt.”

 _It seems like Mother was wrong,_ Damian thinks, thumping his head lightly against the door, because she was.

It burns and it hurts and Damian embraces the pain, holds it close and pretends that it's enough.

It's not, he's beginning to think, and has to clench his fists tighter. He's been touching Jon since he meet him, but he was fourteen when they truly started touching more, and Damian thinks that should have been his first clue.

But, god, his love is a warm fire in his chest, something to keep away the cold, and Damian hadn't known how much he relies on it before now. It's forced him to his feet, helped him resist mind control, made him smile for no reason.

How could he not know?

“I hadn't wanted to,” he murmurs, soft and sad, and knows it to be true. He hadn't want to love Jon, hadn't want to kiss him, hold him, because everyone he loves is taken away.

He hadn't wanted that for his best friend, and he still doesn't, but he can't refuse the love crackling in his heart and pushing against his mind, can't deny the emotion that chokes him.

Hadn't wanted to hurt Jon with his damage.

 _Being in love is a lot like a puzzle,_ someone in Gotham had said as he chuckled and reached for a drink in a bar. _Some fit and some don't, but the one you love fits perfectly like the others don't._

 _What are you, a philosopher,_ another had laughed, and the man only shook his head.

 _Just someone who has seen a lot of life,_ he had replied, and Damian had to move away before he could hear the rest.

“A wise man,” he says, and nods his head towards that nameless man who was in that run down bar in Crime Alley, that man who had old eyes and dark hair and a cheap beer in one hand.

A clever man, especially for one who resides in such a place as Gotham, where the ones who love are beaten down and the ones who fight are given the same fate. He must have loved, once-upon-a-time, must have felt the flames that lick at the lungs and heart, must have given himself away and have it embraced then lost. He must have, because how else would he know?

Damian lowers his head and rubs a hand over his face, closing his eyes in exhaustion. He's really an idiot, a massive one, for him not to know from the moment it happened.

He's been in love with his best friend since he was fourteen.

And he hasn't known until now.

He huffs a laugh and pulls his legs to his chest, resting his chin on his knees. “I'm so stupid,” he says, and sighs, running a hand through his hair and clenching at the base of his back.

His phone falls out of his jeans pocket, vibrating and ringing with a random song Dick had chosen, and Damian glares at it weakly.

“You made a, you made me a believer,” sings his speakers, and Damian snatches his phone off the tile and presses the green button.

 _“Why_ did you choose that song,” he hisses, and Dick laughs.

“Because you made me a believer,” he replies cheerfully, and for a second Damian wants to strangle him for being so happy.

“Whatever. What do you want?”

“B was wondering when you'd be home,” Dick says, just as irritatingly bright, and Damian rubs at his eyes tiredly.

“Soon,” he says, and he can practically hear Dick's frown.

“Something wrong?”

Damian smiles slightly at his older brother’s concern and licks his lips on an effort to do _something._ “What do you do when you realize that you've been in love with someone for years?”

Dick's silent for a moment, gears turning in his head, and Damian can see the way he's tapping his foot.

“Well,” he says slowly, “from personal experience, I would walk up to the person and say I love you and then run away for a week.”

“I don't think that's me,” Damian says dryly, and Dick barks a laugh.

“No,” he agrees without pausing to think. “That's not you. Just tell them.”

Damian hesitates, looking up at the door. “Are you certain?”

“Absolutely,” Dick says firmly, then switches tones. “Call me after you do it, okay?”

Damian takes a deep breath, pushes himself to his feet, and nods one time. “Okay. Goodbye, Grayson.”

“Bye, Damian,” Dick says, and ends the call.

Damian shoves his phone into his pocket again, takes another breath, and then knocks.

It takes a moment, but the door opens, and the words are on the tip of his tongue when he registers Jon's lack of clothes.

His ears turn pink just as the door slams shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made cookies last night and brought some to school, so!
> 
> Have some!
> 
> (If you're allergic to chocolate DO NOT EAT THEM.)


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon has no idea what just happened, and he doesn't want to find out.
> 
> “Why,” he asks the empty apartment, and buries his face in his hands. “Why did I answer the door in a towel.”
> 
> The couch has no answers, and neither does the window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ONE MORE CHAPTER AFTER THIS AND I'M D O N E.
> 
> Also, fair warning, I wrote a panic attack. I'm of the firm belief that Jon would have them and that he gets overwhelmed, but as a warning, I'm telling you now. You can skip over it. It's short and at the end.

Jon has no idea what just happened, and he doesn't want to find out.

“Why,” he asks the empty apartment, and buries his face in his hands. “Why did I answer the door in a towel.”

The couch has no answers, and neither does the window. Jon sighs, heads to his room to throw on a shirt that goes to his knees - it's one of his dad's that got stretched out when he was changing into his uniform - tosses the towel on his bed, and goes to answer the door for the second time in ten minutes.

His hair drips water onto his back and shoulders, and Jon can't decide if he cares about it or not.

He does not, he reaches, and opens the door. Damian's still there, his face red and eyes wide, and Jon gives him a smile that borders on a grimace and says, “Are you going to come inside or not?”

Damian awkwardly nods and shuffles in after him, and Jon rubs at his eyes. “I'm going to go finish my shower. I won't be long.”

Jon's best friend nods again and sits down on the couch, and he looks so natural there, he looks like he belongs there, and it makes something in Jon twist and scream.

He places a hand on the wall and blinks. Okay.

Just ignore that.

He goes to the bathroom and the room is steamed, mirror foggy, but Jon only gets back under the water and scrubs his body quickly.

He just… He just wants to get this over with. The flower in him is ready to bloom, has been for a few days now, and it could happen at any moment. Jon, in all honesty, doesn't want Damian to see that.

He doesn't want his best friend to see him die, not like he saw Lex die that day in the hospital. He doesn't want anyone to see it.

So Jon wants Damian gone. He doesn't really care what he came back for, because the flower is shuddering and losing petals, and,  _ dammit, _ Jon simply wants the pain to end. It's the coward's route, but Jon doesn't care.

He just-

He just-

Jon buries his face in his hands. He knows it's the people left behind. He  _ knows  _ that. He's not stupid, and he's been the one who's lived before. It's terrible, but the only thing that can make it worse is seeing them die.

When he was eleven he watched a little girl die. She had curly hair and dark skin and she was perfect. She had the sweetest giggle that she gifted him with when he was giving her a piggy back ride. And Jon couldn't get to her in time. She died underneath rubble with Jon trying to get it off her, but his powers glitched out again.

She died that day. Her blood stained the concrete and her light blue Superman shirt, and it had gotten everywhere.

When others finally showed up, Jon was staring blankly at her and the mother had  _ screamed. _

Jon never forgot that sound, and he had apologized so many times he was running out of breath when Damian tugged him into his arms, and Jon had broken down right there, with the corpse of the little girl he failed to save five feet away.

Years later, it still haunts him. All the deaths he couldn't prevent haunt him, and sometimes he can't breath, because their ghosts are choking him and dragging him down.

He knows that it's horrible being the one left behind. But it's worse if you watch it happen.

Jon turns off the water, gets dressed, and goes back to the living room, a pit in his stomach from the memories and the oncoming conversation. A person doesn't be friends and be in love with someone without picking up on some cues, and Damian had been all but blaring  _ I don't want to talk but I have to,  _ which.

Is really not a good thing.

The  _ last  _ time this happened, Damian had almost gotten his spine broken.

“Hey,” Jon says as he pads over the couch. “Sorry I took so long.”

Damian looks up from his phone, and Jon only gets a glimpse of an old picture of them after a battle when they were younger before the screen turns dark and he shoved it inside his pocket.

“It's fine,” Damian says, eyes on him, and Jon coughs up four petals into his hand.

He looks so  _ happy  _ looking at him, like the way Dick looks at Wally, and Jon to him, that the flower was practically shaking.

“Why'd you come back,” he asks, still coughing, and he misses the way that Damian seems to falter at the noise.

Damian takes a deep breath, looks Jon right in the eyes, and says, “I'm in love with you."

Jon drops the petals.

“What,” he croaks, and winces at the ache in his throat, because  _ what? _

“I'm in love with you,” Damian says again, face serious, and Jon shoots to his feet, hands already waving about.

“You - I -  _ what?” _

“I'm in love with-”

“I know, I heard you the first time,” Jon snaps, and turns on his heel to pace to the other side of the room. “Where the fuck did this come from? You can't just come in here and say that, you can't just say I love you!”

Damian looks confused, but he shouldn't be! He should know enough about social interactions not to be!

“You could say -"The petals Jon had been holding back suddenly rushed forward, and Jon bent over, coughing hard enough that blood started coming with the petals, and Damian leapt up. “- don't you dare touch me!”

Damian slowly sits back down, and he looks unhappy about it, but fuck him! Fuck him and his random confessions that's everything Jon's been waiting for!

Fuck that!

“Did you finally reach the end of the, of the, dammit, I can't  _ speak!”  _ Jon is about ready to scream, and when Damian offers a dry  _ the list _ it almost pushes him over the edge. He's too hot, too cold, his skin is too small and his lungs are too big and he can't fill them up with air no matter how much he gasps, and everything is so  _ loud- _

_“Just_ _shut up!”_

Everything goes silent. Blessedly  _ silent,  _ and Jon tastes blood.

He uncovers his ears - when did he do that - and faces his best friend, rubbing away the tears with the heel of his hand.

Damian's pale, arms raised as if he was going to pull Jon into a hug or restrain him from hurting himself, and his eyes are wide. Jon smiles a little and puts him out of his misery.

“You can't say I'm in love with you because I'm in love with you. You're the reason I have Hanahaki,” he says gently, and Damian sucks in a harsh breath.

Jon shakes his head and spits out six petals, heart aching.

“Yeah. It sucks,” he says, and doesn't look away from his best friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aren't I terrible?


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Yeah,” Jon says, his stare harsh and angry and confused and still, still heartbreakingly loving, and Damian could kill himself for making him hurt. “It sucks.”
> 
> Damian drops his arms, laughing a bit because what else can he do?
> 
> “I can't imagine how much,” he laughs, and tears are springing to life in his eyes. “God, Jon, I can't imagine how much.”
> 
> And he can't. He simply can't imagine how much pain Jon has been in for so many months, can't imagine how he felt like he was being ripped apart, and Damian can practically taste petals on his tongue. He thinks that, maybe, it's like how Damian's feeling right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final!! Chapter!!!
> 
> I split the perspective because, well, I felt like I needed to!

Damian can't breathe. He can't - he can't help but stare at the blood that was on Jon's lips, an ache starting somewhere in his chest, and he can't believe that he missed this. He can't believe that he missed the way Jon looked at him, soft and happy and loving, missed the way he holds him when he catches him, gentle and with his hands curled around him like Damian's something fragile, like he's glass. He can't believe that he missed the way that Jon's touches sometimes linger, sometimes don't leave until Damian moves away.

He can't believe that he missed it.

“Yeah,” Jon says, his stare harsh and angry and confused and still, still heartbreakingly loving, and Damian could _kill_ himself for making him hurt. “It sucks.”

Damian drops his arms, laughing a bit because what else can he do?

“I can't imagine how much,” he laughs, and tears are springing to life in his eyes. “God, Jon, I can't imagine how much.”

And he can't. He simply can't imagine how much pain Jon has been in for so many months, can't imagine how he felt like he was being ripped apart, and Damian can practically taste petals on his tongue. He thinks that, maybe, it's like how Damian's feeling right now.

“You really can't,” Jon says, smiling, and to Damian it looks like it's the only thing Jon has the energy to do because he just -

He just collapses. He falls to his knees, tears slipping down his cheeks as he presses a hand to his mouth, shoulders shaking and jerking as he cries and coughs up petals and blood drips down his chin. “You really can't, Damian,” he says, looking up, and his teeth and lips are red. “You really can't.”

Damian sinks to his knees, and this time he doesn't stop when he reaches out. He wraps his arms around his best friend - because even after everything, even after realizing that he loves Jon with the fervor of a dying man, he will always be his best friend - and just hugs him, just holds him close as Jon sobs and clutches back, blood landing on Damian's shirt as he buries his face in Damian's shoulder.

Damian runs his hand down Jon's back, tracing his spine with light touches, and threads the other through Jon's hair, shushing his best friend gently. “It's okay,” he says helplessly, because he's never been good with his emotions, never been good at calming others down, but this is _Jon,_ so he takes a deep breath, and smells the strawberry shampoo Jon loves to use. He can't help but let out a taped together smile, and Jon let's out a shuddering sob.

“It's not,” he says, voice hoarse, and Damian - Damian knows that it's not okay. He knows that, knows that like it's an absolute, like it's a constant, but he doesn't know what to do to make it better. But he does know that Jon needs to just - let it out.

So he holds his best friend as tight as he can, holds him as though he's holding Jon together, and let's go.

“You're okay,” he says, pressing a kiss to the side of Jon's head. “You're okay, I've got you.”

Jon simply wails, blood staining his mouth and petals falling to the floor, and Damian curls around Jon the best he can, tries his hardest to shield him from the cruelty that lay just beyond the door. Jon starts coughing and coughing, and Damian closes his eyes, feeling as though he's only holding shards of the beautiful person he fell in love with.

“I can't - it just _hurts,”_ Jon says, voice breaking, “it just hurts so much.”

“I know,” Damian hums, and pulls back, wiping away the tears on Jon's cheeks and giving a tiny, tremulous smile. “I've been trying to get you to get the surgery, remember? I hate seeing you in pain.”

Jon shakes his head, tears glittering like diamonds on his eyelashes, and Damian leans forward to kiss it away. Jon starts, leaning away, but Damian only follows, kissing everywhere on Jon's face he could reach, and then he starts to giggle, then laugh as he tries to push Damian away.

Damian isn't having it, though. Jon's _finally_ grinning, _finally_ laughing, and Damian's heart is about ready to burst, so he kisses Jon on his laughing lips, and just like that, Jon freezes.

Damian only smiles. “I love you, okay? I'm sorry I've been such an idiot.”

Jon blinks, and then he's laughing again as he tackles Damian, and there's life to Jon now, life where there was once death, and Damian kisses Jon again in thanks.

God, does he love him.

 

\--

 

Jon can feel the flower start to wither the next morning, can feel the way it's roots start to crumble. It isn't painful, and even if it did it would be overshadowed by the bright, warm, bubbly love that makes Jon feel like he's floating when his feet are firmly on the ground.

It's beautiful. It's wonderful.

Life is _perfect_ because Damian loves him back.

Damian _loves_ him back, and says that he has for a long time, that he realized it just yesterday morning, and Jon wouldn't have believed him, wouldn't have given himself hope, but -

But Damian's face was sincere. He didn't have the mask on, didn't have the _I'm going to be the future Batman_ front up. What Jon saw was just a floundering Damian, one who didn't know how to express his emotions because that wasn't how he was raised.

So Jon had believed him. He still does, still believes that Damian loves him because hanahaki depends on perspective. If Jon hadn't believed him, the H.F. Young Clematis would have continued growing, would have reached it's roots even further, and Jon would've been dead within a week.

“What are you smiling about,” one of his classmates asks suspiciously, eyes narrowing, and Jon touches his lips.

He grins brilliantly, eyes shining as he spots Damian leaning against his bike on the parking lot. “Oh, no reason,” he laughs, coughing up dead petals, and darts outside.

“Good day,” Damian asks, and Jon kisses him.

“Better now that you're here,” he says, and laughs at the way Damian's ears go red.

He loves Damian Wayne, has since forever, and nothing will ever change that.

Brown petals with blood on them drift to the ground and mixes with the fall colors, and Jon _loves._

Isn't it a gorgeous day?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for staying with me, and reading this. This is my first multi-chaptered fic I've finished, and I'm so happy that you all like it. This will stay very close to my heart, and I hope that you liked the ending.
> 
> You have seen my writing grow and develop with this fic, and I'm so happy that you stuck around.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are always loved and brighten up my day and are saved in my Gmail.
> 
> Also! Here's my [Tumblr.](http://nikescaret.tumblr.com) Come visit and chat with me if you want!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Lavenders and Reds, Your Lips on Mine; But It's Not Right](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11636946) by [xxELF21xx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxELF21xx/pseuds/xxELF21xx)




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